I do. Every day.
“The test results are back, you have about two months. There won’t be a lot of pain but you’ll be weak very close to your expiration date, which we can only estimate.”
Two months? Perfect! Just enough time to get one’s affairs in order and condense whatever meaning one’s life had into a final statement.
Here’s to that Thoreau bullshit about living deliberately, only this time for real!
At the end it’s going to be like falling asleep, or finally Awakening. God already knows I’m not impressed with His work, but if eternity means hanging around doing nothing in a death-proof body, well all right.
It was an average existence at best; everyone I love who loved me is already on the other side. I love my siblings too but it’s not the same as we’re peers and competitors. I’d be sad if they were sad at my “untimely passing” but their sadness won’t be too long, not compared to the treat–or threat–of eternity.
I’d love to ascend in such a fashion that all my creditors, predators, exploiters, bullies and conpersons bear witness to my departure. So long, fuckers! The Final Truth is running up on you, too, better find another host to latch onto and charge usurious interest and feed the small print to.
I’m not overly upset at never finding Someone, there are billions who don’t, they’ll just have to wait a bit longer, longer than never. That business is all hokum anyway, broken bits of the chamber pot of poetry 10 minutes after you blow your load.
I couldn’t take on someone else’s early death in their place, the penalty would be the same as suicide.
No, it has to be your very own illness, yours alone.
Alone.
Imagine it, just two more months and done, put it in Park at last, abandon ship, surrender, GIVE UP. No more feeding or being fed upon.
The End needn’t be peaceful, just…different. Let me be somewhere else and someone else and then nowhere and no one else. Two months is fair O Great One! I accept your offer, just please feign surprise when You see me.
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