Worry Lives A Long Way From Rational

I've Read Plenty Of Amazing Science Pieces Where The Writers Don't Hang Out In Labs. I Just Have Fun Doing It. And I Get Rewarded For It; I Get Gushy, Especially When Kids Tell Me They Expected To Be Bored By My Books, But Weren't.

The Way I See It, Being Dead Is Not Terribly Far Off From Being On A Cruise Ship. Most Of Your Time Is Spent Lying On Your Back. The Brain Has Shut Down. The Flesh Begins To Soften. Nothing Much New Happens, And Nothing Is Expected Of You.

The Suffix 'naut' Comes From The Greek And Latin Words For Ships And Sailing. Astronaut Suggests 'a Sailor In Space.' Chimponaut Suggests 'a Chimpanzee In Sailor Pants'.

It Would Be Especially Comforting To Believe That I Have The Answer To The Question, What Happens When We Die? Does The Light Just Go Out And That's That-the Million-year Nap? Or Will Some Part Of My Personality, My Me-ness, Persist? What Will That Feel Like? What Will I Do All Day? Is There A Place To Plug In My Laptop?

You Do Not Question An Author Who Appears On The Title Page As "t.v.n. Persaud, M.d., Ph.d., D.sc., F.r.c.path. (lond.), F.f.path. (r.c.p.i.), F.a.c.o.g.