The Problem with Mortality

The problem of mortality has been bothering me quite a bit lately. I think it has to do with too much time to think. Life and space; those two things that bother me when I think about them. Space because it's infinite. Life because it's finite. I don't like the idea of life being over. What about all those tomorrows I'll never know? What about all those promises on tomorrow? I don't like the idea of space never ending. It seems to me at a certain point space should turn to solid. When I think about it, space and death should switch characteristics. Life should go on forever (true believers believe it does). Space should have some boundaries. Nope, end of the line, got to tunnel from here. Shake it up a little.
A man shouldn't have to wind down to mortality. At twenty I figured I had 80+ of Life left, but at 51 I KNOW that I have used at least almost half my Life. If I knew I could only live till I was sixty,... Oh, but even figuring to live to 105... every day another step toward the inevitable. Live every day like it's your last. Every day the odds of another decreases a little. Finite. But if life and space could switch characteristics, at fifty one you'd know you were half way to solid, and could look forward to a new world of tunneling.
All of this contemplation has led me to a new conclusion though. Given the choice of being the soul survivor of a dead world and spending the rest of my life alone, but having it all, or perishing with the rest of mankind at once in a meteor cloud or some other catastrophe, I would prefer to die with the masses in the calamity, rather than of loneliness. It has just occurred to me where I want to be buried, too. I don't. I want to be taken to the edge of the atmoshere and fired into space like a human cannonball. Then, even if life has ended, the road will go on forever.