When I die I want it to be easy on everyone left to erase my existence from this planet. I don’t have many things. I stream my music and I don’t own, or want, a way to play movies on discs. The problem will be my stationery. I have 313 pencils, 242 pens, and so many pieces of paper bound in one way or another that I don’t want to count them. Hopefully, whoever is left will just toss my boxes of stationery after deleting my twitter account and burning my journals.
That’s what I’ve told them to do. I’ve told them to throw everything away and gave them a few other instructions. They know what I want done. I’m prepared for the worst to happen.
There’s so much to do.
I could start the process now. I have a favorite pencil and notebook. I could buy them when needed and toss out everything else today — which sounds completely freeing to me.
It even seems like the right thing to do. I’m imagining it now and I can see the fire in my mind. It smells like burning ink and cedar. I’d make s’mores even though they’d be infused with bad chemicals and worse memories from my journals.
Today is a cold day in Houston. It would be fantastic. I bet my neighbors wouldn’t even call the cops, but no one has to put any money down because I’m not going to do it.
As much as I hate having things I love having these things. The notebook I’m using now could be where the novel I always wanted to write starts. Inspiration could strike and I could finally have the words to describe how I truly feel about my partner before I’m not here to tell her. All these different colored pens could help me mind map and get everything under control. They won’t. None of this will happen, but it’s nice to think that I’m able to do those things if needed.
It’s good to be ready for the best instead of just the worst.
Written for issue 1 of Plumbago