Preparedness.

It is more comforting than I can convey in words, and has brought me a peace of mind and serenity of attitude which to my anxious and fearful disposition have since birth been foreign, to ensure that my affairs are in such an order, that I would feel not the least pang of regret if accident should befall me while I am away from my room.  The instructions in case of disease are composed and placed where they will soon be found, the letters written to my intimates are sealed therein.  There is nothing of which I should be ashamed (excepting maybe some old journals), nothing that would need to be hidden.  All is ready for my departure.  And daily, one is relieved to step out of doors with his face shaven, his bed made, and his dishes washed, that all should be in not a shameful condition if fortune dictate that they be left for another to find.  Thus arranged, there is that sense of comfort like to that when traveling with a chaperon, when one feels that everything is taken care of, and he need not fret about the baggage or the hotel room.  

Only, as all things in the mind are balanced, my now usual serenity succumbs to choking anxiety if I must step into public unshaven, or if emergency compels me to leave my bed unmade.  Surely, the world being by nature cruel, to-day, when I am most vulnerable, will be the day I am forced to retreat, and my punctilious bed-making and dish-washing and shaving will avail me naught.  But that is not so bad.  The weightiest matters are arranged, and everyone I know will hear from me what they need to hear.  Only, I imagine my last thought on seeing a 99 'bus barreling down upon me as I cross 10th Ave., would be Ach, I will never now how it all turns out with the world!