Post Ninety-Three: The Death of Me.

I love this picture! (That little guy, for me, is the epitome of awesome.) It relates very little to this blog post...

I had a dream last night that I died. I don't know how I died, but my funeral was awesome. Everything was so rad that I figure I should document it, and what better way to do that than blogging it to share with y'all. It feels very self indulgent, but a healthy indulgence at that. Coming to terms with my own mortality, cripes!

It was a night time vigil, I think it was at 8PM. People rocked up to the chapel I work at, except they held the service outside under the stars in the carpark. They had a big tent up where I was, casket open with me in it in my skeleton onesie grinning cheesily. I had a corkboard coffin, and people took polaroid photos during the night and pinned them onto the sides. The ambience was really upbeat, all music festivally (without the bogans and tanned girls in denim vagina-exposing shorts.)

The celebrant was Elvis. The music was great and varied from Bon Iver, Fleet foxes and this really pretty Audreys song that I've always wanted... (pretty much stuff I'm listening to now) and my friends played some mariachi tunes...

Then people ate cake and laughed at all the photos I've taken while drunk. I was taken away to the cemetery in the side carriage of a Harley Davidson. I don't know where this desire came from, but it's fun! This is what I want.

So, I most certainly don't want to die yet. I have stuff I want to get done. If I do get topped though, WHAT A PARTY!!!!

xxx