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2002-09-26 - 5:25 a.m.
n twelve hours I will be departing.
I am always aghast at the amount of junk I end up packing for trips. Stuff I know
full well I won’t use, but also know that if the idea strikes me to use that item while away
and I don’t have it I will spend the rest of the day mouring the fact that I didn’t bring it.
Like the obscene amount of shoes I am bringing. I am bringing shoes I have only worn
once in my life, but that one time I wore them they were perfect. What if I have some
outfit that only THOSE shoes will look right with? And hair stuff. I’m pretty sure I will
have no need for even one thing in the gallon sized Ziplock bag I have filled with hair pins,
rubber bands, headbands and so on. And the oatmeal? Eric tells me he doesn’t think there
is oatmeal in France so I freaked out and and bought enough oatmeal to get me through
three weeks, even if I decide to eat it every morning. That takes up enough room in my
suitcase that I could have brought three more pairs of unneeded shoes.
I’m doing okay with the flying thing. You see, I’ve come to the conclusion that if I
am going to die I would most certainly prefer to die in a plane crash. I’ve always had this
thing about what would happen to my body after I die. I know with great certainty that I
don’t want to be buried, because the thought of six feet of heavy dirt over my abandoned
body makes me cringe and the thought of sending my embalmed body through some
incinerator to be creamated makes me cringe even more. I’ve always said that I hope I
just die in the middle of a field somewhere and that no one can ever find me so I just
decompose. And the whole viewing the body thing at funerals makes me feel funny, I
don’t really want people to see me dead. I don’t want some long suffering illness from
which I die, I don’t want to be in an accident that leaves me almost dead for months until I
finally expire. No, a plane crash would be the best option, get it over with fast and don’t
leave a body behind. So, I’m okay with flying now. I also realized that my stupid desire
to have my feet firmly planted on solid earth is rather unfounded as well. I mean, we are
after all, wandering around on a giant globe that is suspended in the middle of god only
knows what and hurtling through that god only knows what at a speed I cannot even
fathom. So, with these thoughts in my head I go...I go to France.
When the Atlantic ocean turns into a big bowl of salty oatmeal you will know that I
have plunged into the sea with my oatmeal heavy suitcases. Feel free to take any of the
shoes you might find floating around in the muck, I won’t be needing them anymore, hell,
I don’t even need them now.
Au revoir mon amis. |
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