I'm not even depressed.
I'm saturated with love, and moonlight and cricket-song are seeping into my window.
But I've been pacing and thinking before burrowing into my bed with my purring laptop.
Suppose tomorrow or the next day I get distracted while crossing a street and clumsily stumble in front of a bus or just clumsily stumble on my black granite stairs or get bit by a spider or slip in the shower.
I want to be cremated.
No Catholic Mass. Don't bury the ashes.
Ashes in Paris. Ashes in the Aegean. Ashes in the Mississippi.
Have a party. Drink gin.
Thanks.
I still have my old will where Mr. Ex gets everything. Probably that's not enforceable now. I hope.
I'll work on changing that but meanwhile let this post serve as official word that he should have nothing.
And he can't come to the party.
2 comments:
I don't think you can have more witnesses to your wishes than you do now.
How did I miss this post? I'm a witness and you'd better believe I'll help to make it happen should it happen before me.
I've always wanted to do this.
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