Dying is Expensive
As we, as the human species, get older, so do the abyssal gaps in our wallets and the growing existential dread leaning over our lives. Our health grows gradually further away from the ideal state of things and closer to a state of self-perpetuating sickness. In America, being sick is costly, requiring an investment of time and hard-earned dollars.
I understand that medication and drug prices are out of control. I don’t like paying a lot more than I should, just because some greedy geezer decided to sell pills at 450% the price it costs to make them, and it’s one of many reasons I loathe the idea of big business holding the reins of the pharmaceutical industry. Frankly, it’s expensive to stay alive.
However, this is a trend I see a lot. People, including myself, rightfully, but easily complain that medication prices are way too high. Rich people will just say, “Just save your money! Take some personal responsibility!” Well, I’m somewhat rich compared to a lot of Americans, thanks to the cost of living in New York, but here’s the thing: income scales with the cost of living. What I have is basically no different than what you have proportionally. You and I shouldn’t complain about paying to stay alive. I know I wouldn’t. I’d have to complain about paying driving tickets and taxes by extension then. I know, that if living is so expensive, dying should be cheaper, right? Ha, if only you knew how expensive dying can really be.
First, the costs of dying can spiral out of control just as much as the costs of living. Depending on how you choose to shut off the lights, it could be dirt cheap or radically expensive. Tossing a toaster in the bathtub only costs $40 or so and a minute of time; hiring a hitman to hunt me down can cost thousands of dollars, yet it all ends the same way, the only difference being the size of the dent inflicted on my wallet. At that point, I’d rather pay $300 for some miniature pills that kill me slowly from the inside than pay $25,000 for a grown man with a gun to shoot me, though, being in New York after all, I can get that for free too if I just get the timing at night correct and the location completely wrong.
After laying down the initial costs of dying, there is also the funeral procession. Coffins are ridiculously expensive for what are essentially rectangular boxes of wood, and that alone can set me back a college tuition’s worth. Think about it: a fancy wooden box is worth as much as a piece of paper signifying my agony in pursuing linguistics. I’d rather just be buried raw, for at least I can rest with a heavier wallet, the weight of which will keep me down and prevent me from rising up during my eventual resurrection that I don’t want to look forward to. Forget all of that though. I would need to have people invited to my funeral. I’m a millennial; the thought of social interaction makes me throw up a little in my mouth. I don’t want people coming up to my corpse and then talking about me. One, that’s backbiting, and two, I probably don’t even know them to begin with. My soul will probably look on with confusion, wondering, “Who the hell are half these people?”
Besides that, I can certainly feel my anxiety descending down on me like some looming fog during a storm. It is a mentally taxing and crippling thing to envision. I’d rather spare myself the cost of my neurons fizzling out, thank you very much. My IQ has long since dwindled anyways and I don’t need an acceleration of my stupidity reaching astounding heights. I’m not looking for a career in politics just yet, though that’s a tempting way of living life as a hollow, soulless vessel past its days of living along the mortal coil. Now that I’m done describing Fox News anchors, I can safely conclude that being the withering soft weakling that is a politician is not a card I wish to hold in my hand in the upcoming years. I’m already that sans the withering, hence why I’m a sociopolitical writer.
So when I hear people complain that it costs too much to live or to afford things like meds, I can’t help but sympathetically shake my head. I truly empathize with the notion that the big pharmaceutical companies are run by money-munching maggots, but I know living can be cheaper than dying. The next time I hear a friend of mine complain about taxes or whatnot, I’ll simply tell them, “Shut up. Please, just shut up. You think it’s hard living? You never know, you could pay more for dying.”
All I’m saying is this: stop complaining about your plights, because worse ones exist out there, and what you have right now is only the beginning. I know I have a long list of issues waiting for me at the end of the line, but my toaster does have a long power cord too. I’ll have the last laugh at the end of day, once I have the money to afford laughing, that is. Ha ha ha! That’s all I can afford for now.
