The Death Plan

I am a pathological planner.  I don’t breathe without thinking about one of my goals.  I set daily goals, weekly goals, monthly goals, yearly goals, three-year goals, five-year goals, ten-year goals and life goals.  One of my life goals is more of a death goal.  Yes, I have planned my death.

When I die, I will be old, frail and grey-haired.  I will be in a warm, lush, humid climate.  The only sounds I will hear will be the sounds of nature all around me.  From my window, I will see massive trees with massive leaves, perhaps even some birds and snakes.  There will be an abundance of sunlight.  The room will be radiant and golden.  I will live near water.  I will have sat beside a river or an ocean that very day and felt the power of its presence.  I will be blissfully alone.  If necessary, I will demand solitude.  I’m fine with people being in the house as long as they fuck off and give me peace and quiet.  I will lie in a comfortable bed, and I will glance at a stack of books and scripts.  I will have them stacked near the window where I can see them because I will know that I am living my final days.  When I draw my final breath, I will glance over at that stack, at all the worlds I created.  I will thank God, feel the pain of my body shutting down and I will go on my way. 

More than any other plan, this plan fortifies me, and it always makes me smile.