The big bang, when it was the size of a grapefruit

I fall in the bucket of generally being chronically over-punctual and prepared. You'll find others like me, who would happily be ready and wait two hours for a thing, thumbing away through a book, or strumming to the aural indulgences of a podcast. Criminally early wake ups to avoid queues and traffic, and an indefatigable resilience that keeps a bum on a seat, waiting, waiting, waiting. Definitely a strange lot. They've (we've) made me wonder though, about how the overly prepared and pragmatic and patient take a seat on the dark wooded bench waiting for death. When it's not in their way to leave the hurrying and doing for the last moments or years, when they've conscientiously gathered up what they know they'll need, and then tidily collect themselves until their name is called out. In a year's time. In several decades. It may be just a reframing, away from letting go living and towards waiting to (after)life. But There's a seductive trigonometry that quietly spins itself with the nonchalant complexities of multiverses.