"Get a budget." She said with a wry smile.

 "... that's your advice for life?"

 She nodded.

 "Your only advice," I said, "is to get a budget? I already have a--"

 "No, you're thinking about money. I'm talking about life."

 "I don't understand."

 She smiled.

 "Six months ago, I learned that I had a year to live."

 "Right..."

 "Suddenly, I knew exactly how much of my life was left. As humans, we don't deal well with large numbers or absolutes. What's two billion seconds? What's sixty or seventy years?"

 "Yeah, but I at least have an idea of how--"

 "No, you don't. You're human. We don't have any concept of how quickly it all goes."

 "But when you have a year to live...?" I asked.

 "Exactly. We all know how long a year is. I suddenly had to make very real, comparative decisions on how to spend my life. A year? Do I really want to spend ten minutes being miserable? Should I spend a day being angry over something inconsequential? Do I really want to go see that movie and spend two hours in a darkened theater alone? Do I really want to spend that hour watching a television show? Do I really want to spend time doing this instead of that?"

 I nodded.

 "Once my life was quantified, once it was so limited that I could see the end, I knew exactly how I wanted to spend it--because it was like a budget. I was taking time and spending them on certain things and ignoring others."

 "How did you decide which was which?"

 "That was easy," She smiled, "I didn't make any time for sadness."