On Death and Dying

I am not particularly afraid of dying. I say not particularly, but what I mean is I would feel badly for all of you having to carry on without my particular brand of wit. Otherwise, I feel like I have already faced the unknown.

Having had night terrors quite a bit of my life, I can tell you, I have died plenty in my dreams. I was once shot in front of a black SUV. And whomever I was with laid me across the backseat, and as I am bleeding out, I notice I can no longer feel the seatbelt hooks (clasps?) digging into my back.

And then I die.

And I remember thinking even as a child, that when I die I will ask to go back. Jesus is like the Easter Bunny and Santa ALL ROLLED INTO ONE. He will let me go back!

Let me tell you, there was NOTHING ON EARTH that could make me go back. That is how good death felt.

Disturbingly, after I was dead, I didn't wake up right away like I normally do. And boy oh boy was that some peaceful sleep!

Not all the dying dreams have been pleasant though. Dying in itself is pretty painful (from what I have experienced, dream-wise, so you can just take that for what it's worth) since you can feel your organs shutting down.

Once, I had a dream that someone slaughtered me on top of a Burger King roof (and it wasn't that creepy king, either. And I mean literally slaughtered, as in slashed the living bejesus out of me.) and I felt my organs shut down. I literally dragged myself over the side of the building and dropped myself off the side. Mostly because I was afraid I would still be conscious when the birds came to start picking my carcass, and it might take a while for the smell to start and people to figure out that there was a BODY ON THE TOP OF A BURGER KING ROOF.

And, in case you are wondering, I do remember every single dream. Seriously. Most of them are idiotic. Like, I spent a month folding sweaters at Old Navy. A month. AND I DID NOT GET PAID. That has to be the worst part. Like, I went through this mundane training, and then folded sweaters for 8 hours a night in a dream, and I didn't even get paid.

Sometimes I have children. Sometimes not. Sometimes Eric is there, and sometimes not. Recently, I have been working. At my normal job. I think I actually prefer the night terrors to THAT. 16+ hours of formula writing and math. Oh Joy.

Occasionally I talk to the dead. I know what you're thinking, "OH SHE IS CRAZY." or "ME TOO." Rest assured, I do not believe I am actually talking to the dead. I don't know what I am doing, but I am not talking to the actual dead. I also don't believe YOU'RE talking to the dead, but that is a story for another day.

Once, my (deceased) grandmother told me to go to a church that she went to. So we went. It was mother's day. Disturbingly, I got a few answers to my current problems, and since then, the Bible (capitalized or not? Anyone know?) passage they talked about has popped up A LOT.

I once saw my grandfather (my mother's father). But that was a long time ago. He showed up in a hat, and a long overcoat (trench coat?). And I woke up very startled, and he said, "Hello Enna, I'm Mister M*****" Only he said my FULL NAME. And let me tell you, my name isn't Enna, it's something MUCH MUCH LONGER, and he said my full name.

I didn't say anything, and he folded in on himself and disappeared. (Message to my mother: Did he lose a foot? Like, torn off style? Odd, I know.)

And the only thing I could think of was, "Wow, I thought he would be taller."

And that is why I will never win a Pulitzer. Wait, that wasn't what I was talking about.

I hope everyone has a great night. Tonight I have to remember to set my alarm clock, as I did not last night. Which, of course, means I worked some overtime at Old Navy.