I don't expect to be reincarnated,
so I'll blog about dying and death (with appropriate irreverence) while I'm still alive.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Text for my gravestone

When I was young, I had delusions of immortality. I honestly thought that if I was on a plane with 393 other people and the plane crashed, I would be the sole survivor. It was probably a combination of innocence, ignorance, egomania and utter lack of confidence in others.

I also felt that if I went into a jungle alone and had to face hostile tigers, alligators or Viet Cong I would survive; but if I was part of a huge army, someone else would fuck up, and we would all get killed. I didn’t like teamwork.

Now, decades later, I have a more realistic assessment of my future. I know I won’t live forever. And since I don’t want some-one else to mess up my epitaph, here it is.
"OK, what's next?"
I like “Rockwell Bold” for the typeface. Someone just has to fill in the final date and pick a nice piece of rock.

As for the words, yes, I’m an incurable optimist. I've always been resilient. I recover quickly from setbacks and disappointments and I’m always looking ahead. On freezing days in January I know that the Earth gets more sunlight each day and is warming up. Spring is coming. Soon my dog and I will be in the pool and my ancient Fiat Spider will be out of the garage.

Someone, please make sure my stone is done right. My words are important to me. If you fuck it up, I’m gonna come back and bite your neck. Thanks very much.

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