til death

I have been thinking about my inevitable death since I was old enough to realize exactly what death is. I obsess about it, I dream about it, I get both anxious and serene about it. Sometimes I’ll be minding my own business and then I’ll suddenly think “holy shit, I’m going to die some day” which leads me to thinking about all the different, horrible ways in which I might die.

I have this vision of a perfect death and it’s one in which I choose to die on my own. I’m maybe 90 years old and I’ve had enough. A kind, comforting nurse is at my bedside, ready to give me a combination of drugs that will ease me into a blackness from which I will never return. My family is gathered, and there’s a carefully curated playlist of songs on the stereo, songs specifically chosen to play me out. I say my goodbyes, I kiss and hug everyone, and prepare to meet my everlasting bliss as the strains of Built To Spill’s “Carry the Zero” fills the room.

This is the way we should all go out. We should all be able to determine when our time is up, when we’ve had enough of this life. I imagine there would be bureaucracy involved, because there’s always bureaucracy involved, and we’d have to undergo a battery of psychological tests to make sure we’re of sound mind and body as we make this decision to end our life. Once the papers were filled out and notarized and submitted, a physician would be provided to make your medicinal cocktail and the kind nurse would stick an IV in you and that would be it. You’ve lived. You’ve loved. You’ve laughed. You’ve done it all and now you’re going to go out on…