So, you see that I am disturbed about coffins.
Don't like me no coffins.
The reason I even bring this up is that yesterday at work, Human Resources sent around this email about Living Wills and how to create one if you’re so inclined, and I was all, OH MY GOD! If they take out my feeding tubes, I will die and perhaps go in a coffin. Holy SHIT. That is unacceptable! I got all bummed out about it, because
a) I really do not want to die, and
b) If I do die, I most certainly do not want to be in a coffin, creeped out for all eternity.
I know there are some wonderful coffin alternatives. Like you can be burned to a pile of crunchy ashes and sprinkled under your favorite tree! Or hacked apart by a team of eager medical students! But I don’t have a favorite tree. And, thanks to an especially arrogant former flame, I don’t much care for medical students either.
So, here’s my plan:
I want to be stuffed.
In the evenings, in the summer, you can prop me up on the porch with a glass of wine in my hand and a good book on my lap.
Or would that be too weird?