[On Thursday, a young man died in his apartment. He wasn't found for twenty four hours. His parents want him cremated because he's a hassle. His friends worry that his parents are jerks.]
When I die, Katy gets all of my cameras, film, and picture frames on the stipulation that she hang enough pictures to warp the drywall.
When I die, Philip gets my passwords, accounts, and video games.
When I die, Brooke gets all my cooking equipment, even though she probably doesn't need it.
When I die, Mom and Dad get my car and any money in my bank, because all the expensive stuff I own is theirs anyway.
When I die, Josue Feliciano gets the rights to my plays for all time.
When I die, God gets my soul.
When I die, you get the blog. Print off your favorite and take it off the web. A daily endeavor is no place for the dead.
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Oh, that I will have such a clear-cut and organized will one day. Your last paragraph is exactly right. When I die, that's what I want for my blogs, too.
ReplyDelete[Do we know how he died?]
ReplyDeleteThank you for your honesty. And your blog.
I hope you're not offended when I state that I don't want your blog for a very very long time. I'd much rather have the daily endeavorer around.
Noted.
ReplyDeleteHe died of a heart attack. He shrugged off the symptoms until he fell over.
ReplyDeleteOh my.
ReplyDeleteDid you purposely put poetry into those last three sentences? It's not rhyme, it's rhythm.
I did. The first time, I wrote "a daily endeavor is no place for a dead man" until I realized that "for the dead" sounds better.
ReplyDeleteWell, it's a phrase that echoes throughout the day. Just so you know.
ReplyDeleteI LOVE THAT I GET YOUR BEST STUFF
ReplyDelete