A New Job: Thoughts On Death
I can now share some fantastic news with all 8 of you: I got a new job! Yes! And it’s full time and it comes with benefits and vacation days and such. Also, if I die, I have insurance to cover my own cremation costs. Isn’t this FUN??! YEAH!??!
Since I had to sign the paper work and the money will now officially be there should the unfortunate situation arise, I did feel that it was necessary to tell my mother my wishes in regards to my earthy remains.
In response to me wanting to be cremated, she said, “We’ll see”. We’ll see. As if 7-year-old me had asked if we could go to the pool later.
Mom, I have to tell you something. it’s morbid. Don’t get upset.
My mother is a very sensitive creature.
Oh gosh. What?
If I die before you and Dad, please please promise me you wont set up some sort of viewing.
Oh…okay. Well…—
Mom. Mom, listen to me. I will be so pissed if you show off my dead gross body in some terribly decorated room so everyone can come look at how crappy some 80 year old woman did my makeup. That’s what everyone will remember me as.
Okay. Got it.
Now. Another thing. I don’t want to be burried. I want to be cremated.
Oh Lisa, gross.
Listen! It’s so dumb to take up that much space when you’re dead. Those boxes are super expensive and all you do is cover it with dirt. Don’t make a big deal out of it. I have to tell you so you know. Now you know. And Nicole is here so she’s my witness so if you don’t do it, she’ll know that you went against my wishes. And at the funeral that I didn’t want, you won’t even be able to make eye contact with her because you’ll probably feel super ashamed. Her eyes will say something like, “This isn’t what she wanted”. Oh mom…it’ll be awful.
Alright. We’ll see.
!!!???!!???!
Sheesh, I don’t think I’m asking for anything too crazy. People get cremated all the time. Well, dead people, generally. There are tons of other less conventional ways to be “buried”. You could be shot in to space. You could be made in to a firework. You could be planted as a tree or made in to a pencil that your loved ones can do their homework or perhaps the first draft of their taxes with. You could be made in to some disgusting brown liquid and poured down a drain. I’m not kidding. It’s called Alkaline Hydrolisis. It’s a thing.
“The liquid has the texture of motor oil and spreads a strong ammonia (urine-like) smell, but it is sterile and can be poured down the drain…”
I’m pretty sure this is just a description of how a serial killer gets rid of the evidence. I’d keep an eye on those Mayo clinic quacks that came up with this.
I’m not interested in my remains being made in to some reef ball and placed in the ocean. I don’t want to be pressed in to a diamond, either. Just cremate me and then my friends should go on a cross-country road trip to commemorate my life and accidentally leave my ashes in a diner in South Dakota. Then just party, dudes. Cause life’s pretty nuts.
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