You know that feeling when you're just typing an email, a really boring one about toner cartridges, and you catch sight of your hand—and there it is, a new spot, darker than the others. It’s not a big deal, I know, but suddenly you’re not thinking about toner, you’re thinking about… everything. All the things you meant to do, all the chances you let slip by because "duty calls" or whatever you told yourself, and it just hits you, like a punch to the gut—this is it, isn't it? The clock is really running out. Is that stupid? Feeling like you messed up your whole life over a liver spot.