A bit of morbid truth..

I was recently thinking about a conversation I had with my biffle. Yeah I call my bestie my biffle, my best friend, my twinky a number of things. The thing is that a long time ago we talked about our funerals. It was my explicit desire that the day I croak, it’s an invitation only event. Don’t worry, the list should be tremendously short. The reason I wanted it that way is there is nothing more than I hate than to see people who didn’t give a shit when you were alive show up and act like they care. My personal favorite is the great talk about the dead guy because now he’s dead. I guess it’s social norms that it’s ill advised to speak ill of the dead. For me, I want posthumous to be around those who truly loved me and understood me. I want my eulogy to talk about the asshole I was, but the fighter I was. I want to be recognized for my cruelty but acknowledged as well for my love. I don’t want people to only recognize the good I’ve done, I want them to own that here lies an asshole, with a big heart and cold stone emotions. Because at the end of it all, that’s who I really am.

I attended one funeral in my life that was the most impacting moment of my life. I wrote about that. I was bothered that day, why? Because I knew he had strife with his family, in fact we celebrated Thanksgiving like outcasts, so the fact everyone was morning someone who had just recently been in the hospital, that I took off of work to pick up because we were like family, that bothered me. Don’t mourn people when their gone, cherish them while they live because that’s when it counts for something, otherwise it counts for shit…


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