IT ALWAYS SEEMED TO ME THAT THERE WOULD BE SOME warning—that I would have, at the least, a month to live before I would die. Thinking that, I felt that death could likely never reach me because my everyday life would need to be stopped by this warning—at that moment I would change, be someone else (the person so warned). In a way, then, my everyday self would never die because she would not be the one living the final month. In clinging to the everyday life, therefore, I felt I could avoid death because everyday life, to my mind, is a place to which death never comes.
