no weddings and a funeral

There must be something in the water because it’s seems that with every turn of my head lately someone is announcing an engagement or worse a pregnancy. And while I feel that I am happy for them all I can’t help but fiercely shake my head in bewilderment and wonder how the hell we all suddenly got to this point in our lives? The points were all my peers seem to be settling down and starting families of their own while I am still puzzling over how to leave the nest and mark a course of my own.

And it appears that I can’t even escape this nightmare in my own sleep as it has now found a way into my mind, fusing into my precious dreams. And let me tell you this mornings was really something else.

Last night my dream starred an old primary school crush who I happily invited to come live with me because, well no reason was actually made clear. But here we were, living under the same roof whilst the townspeople went about their days gossiping about the two of us. Then I strike it rich after finding a considerable supply of black liquid gold. Under my church pew no less. Suddenly the townspeople are all up in my business, needing to know what I plan to do with this treasure and more importantly if I am going to split my new-found loot with him. Since they perceived us as a new couple they felt it necessary to make it their business you see. But as it turned out he was now expecting a baby with his ex. So after a few conversations with someone I can’t recall, contemplating if I should now split the money with him and believing he’ll probably choose his ex over me, somehow I ended up back at my parents home, looking after someone’s Golden Retriever and trying to get him to go to his bed whilst juggling flaming fire torches. It strikes me that I am juggling these dangerously close to the hot water system and that I could potentially blow myself up. Of course with that train of thought those ill-advised torches end up slipping from my grasp and land fatally beside the gas outlet of the tank. Flames quickly lick at the steel surface, disintegrating its painted exterior and charring it a sickly black hue. I move to try to extinguish the flames but lo and behold it explodes with a soundless bang. I don’t feel a thing, immediately noting the weightlessness of my body as it tows away to the skies, only to start sinking back down towards a large body of water. I half expected to find those beastly demons you find sculpted onto the stone exteriors of towering Gothic churches and a bunch of skeletal outstretched hands eager to transport me deep down under the earth. But nothing’s there awaiting me. I’m simply met with the gentle tugs of the ocean tide; easily treading water. The reflection of a million bright lights on the murky surface catches my attention so I paddle on over to find an old world glistening metropolis laying before me.

I awake, contemplating the dream as I usually do, reminiscing as if an old fond memory of my own. But the one thing I find myself drawn to is my death, and in particular what would actually happen on this earth the days following such a thing? Like my funeral for example? Well it didn’t take long for me to recognize what a failure it would actually be. For one, and this was my main point of concern, but I am quite certain that the church pews awaiting for people to plant their butts firmly on would be waiting still as the church I see before me would be practically deserted. Honestly I’d be lucky if twenty people actually did attend. And those in attendance would be of the grey haired variety; my parents friends coming out to support. As for my own friends, well I don’t know if the small handful I can call by that name would attend, but I suppose they probably would.

Still it is such a bleak and depressing thought; a near empty church for the service of a young girl.

Image via Pinterest

Then there’s obviously the service itself. My narcissistic side wonders what photograph my parents would use to cement me in for eternity. It actually hopes they’d use that one photo I approve of that stands framed above the television opposite my brothers framed portrait. The one when I was nineteen and had blonde hair. And the service itself? It would do no justice to the real me. It would be so boring and generic and make no mention of my dreams and real achievements. I suppose that is my own fault, not letting someone close enough to know or even see the real me. So I would be remembered as nothing. No mention for what I ever wrote nor said, regardless of truly making it or not. Forever indistinctive and destined to be forgotten after a few months or years. And hopefully not buried in the ground but into a claustrophobic mausoleum with a white marble facade adorned with a small bouquet of fresh flowers, none of the gross plastic kind please.

It’s such a sad sight and it’s sad because it feels so close to the truth. I won’t have attendees spilling out onto the lawns or neighboring roads for me. No convoy of cars to follow the hearse to the graveyard. I’ll be as alone in death as I was in life. Even my spirit wouldn’t hang around these parts for too long, it’ll go haunt elsewhere, cross the seas and get far, far away from this place.

It’s all kinds of humiliating and makes you dread the day your body betrays you and gives you up to the unknown. Hopefully it’s a day that won’t be seen for many decades yet, you know to give me some time to accomplish stuff and obviously make a lot of new friends.




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