Nothing screams the perfect Tuesday night like an intense stairclimber gym sweat, Applebee’s half price appetizers, and lady conversation.
While staring at our boneless buffalo wings and waxing poetic about life my friend looks at me and quickly adds “how do you want to die”?
I’ve spend many years watching people die at work. Weird, I know, but it begins to feel like preparing the deep fryer after a time….standard and a part of the day. Some quickly, most painfully slow, weeks of suffering but I’ve never stopped and thought how I’d want to go. It’s an odd question. What’s the best way to fade off into an infinity we don’t have a concrete understanding of. Young, old and demented, while climbing up Mount Everest? I really didn’t have an answer.
“In my sleep, when I’m somewhat old, it can be a heart attack.” This is my answer, because this feels safe. Fast and dirty. No moment to contemplate who to apologize to, who to thank, item to pass on to which person just click-a moment over.
Later on in the evening while speaking with another friend about The Scientology Documentary she had been watching, she said…..”we could never be scientologists, imagine you and me in the hole, cracking jokes and not remembering teachings”. I agreed figuring we would be their form of excommunicated-maybe that means we’d be thrown into outer space. She quickly added “with cats” which brought me to my ultimate decision. Death by outer space and cats.
I’ve decided to live the fantasy of my supposed demise as opposed to the reality that I witness everyday because afterall, if we can’t throw a little fairy dust in the cracks here and there it’s all just black and white and there’s a reason no one reads the newspaper anymore.
Stay tuned for the epic documentary….space cats, an intergalactic jaunt with boots and meow meow.