Where Do We Go From Here?

A number of events of little significance have got me thinking, as of late, about what I need to do with myself before I die. I have either an infinite or an infinitessimal amount of time left; while I'm not particularly fearful of my own death, I am, at times, apprehensive of what will happen to me in the moments between now and then. What will I do, what will I see, where will I go? Will I stop dropping my freaking cheerios on the floor of my cubicle? I've always had a somewhat morbid view of my own future, expecting it to be rife with intense heartbreak and disease or mortal injury. Is my obsession with tragedy and passion just girlish fantasy, or could there be something more, something real in my dreams? A few people close to her believe that my mother has a certain amount of metaphysical power, that she can will changes into the lives of others. Could it be possible that I will tragedy into mine? Or is my awareness of mortality simply so excessively accute that it permeates my vision of life?