Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,
I have no fear of death. I know where I'm going.
A doctor once told me, One more minute and you would have been dead!
All I could think was, Fuck! I didn't even see the tunnel and the light!
How come everybody else who comes so close to death gets to see the fricking tunnel and the light, but not me? Oh, no. Never me. I'm always left out.
But I can think of a couple of things about dying that piss me off.
First, I know I will have books on my shelves that I haven't read yet. That's because I have a horrible fear of facing an empty house at midnight without a new book to read. So I always have more books around than I can possibly read during, let's say a month or two months. Plenty of books. It pisses me off that when I go, those books will be sitting there unread.
Second, I have about two bazillion movies in my Netflix queue. And I'm always adding more. There's no way I will watch all the movies I want to see before I die. Just absolutely no way. That pisses me off, too.
I probably won't get to go to England before I die. I definitely won't get laid by Johnny Depp.
The part of entering the gates of Heaven that makes me the happiest is that my collie Faulkner will be there waiting for me, tail wagging. He won't be deaf and lame anymore. We'll play slobberball just like we used to.
It will be so cool.
When we're tired of playing, we'll have tea with Emily Dickinson and Sylvia Plath and talk about poetry and then we'll play more slobberball and we'll invite them to play, too.
Infinities of love,