Martha.

Martha^**: Do you remember Simon^*?
Me: Ugh. Yes. That guy’s the worst.
Martha: He’s dead.
Me: … You couldn’t have led with that?!?

*Not his real name.

** Her real name.

Leavetaking.

Not to be morbid, (though let’s be honest, it’s just self-obsession masquerading as such), which of course means I’m about to be, so where it read ‘Not to be morbid’, pretend it was ‘Hey, I’m about to talk about my funeral!’ instead.  And here we go.

I’ve made it clear to numerous people what should happen at the time of my death – if, of course, I die as I am now, which is single.

The first edict is Hide my porn.  Really, the last thing my parents need is to, in between sobs, have to figure out if they should toss or donate my copies of Deep Throat, Taboo II and The Best of Seka.

The second is, at the funeral the statement “She died doing what she loved, ______” should be used ad fucking nauseam. No matter what I died of, from being eaten by bears (She died doing what she loved, being slowly eaten alive by dull-toothed bears) or choking on a crouton (She died doing what she loved, opting to hate herself rather than skip the delicious bready crouton) to the most realistic of the fates, tripping over all the clothes and shoes on the floor of my bedroom and dying of blunt head trauma (She died doing what she loved, rushing to the living room to make sure the DVR was getting her stories).

The third also takes place at the funeral, Stacy (specifically. I will accept no substitute) is to say “Too soon! I was going to go as her for Halloween!” to everyone that will listen.  She should also let everyone know that I loved the movie Die Hard.

The fourth and final is the poem that’s to be read, non-ironically and with as much gravitas as you can muster:

I never thought it would be Paradise.
I walked a rugged pathway from the start.
No Ugliness was hidden from my eyes,
Nor was Life’s pain a stranger to my heart.
And yet, the earth sprung firm beneath my feet
And summer winds were gentle to my hair.
I breathed upon the dusk, and found it sweet,
I gazed uopn the dawn and found it fair.
I know gray moors where shadow mists lie curled
And sunlight streams and night skies rich with stars.
For all its faults, I so have loved this World
And found it beautiful, despite its scars.
Though Angels sing of Glories greater still,
I leave in Sadness, much against my will.