Morbid Amusements

So I calculated that by Australian time, Rapture should have occurred at 8am this morning.

I sat with my muesli, milk, and pear (for the want of yoghurt, my usual single piece of finely chopped crystallized ginger, and fresh (I refuse to eat old chewy ones) prunes - a sad state of affairs) and contemplated what the immediate future would hold if Rapture actually were to occur. I figured that if the earthquakes occurred across America - as the a-few-screws-loose-in-the-head fanatics seemed to claim, then it's entirely possible tidal waves would subsequently swamp Australia (my geography is a little hazy *cough*understatement of the year*cough* so please don't quote me on that one).

Being in the flat, I had good reason to hope the raging waters of death would pass below us, and hopefully within 10 minutes of 8am (as dad and I would be departing for All Saints at 8:10am). If this were to be the case, the flat would then effectively become an island surrounded by chaos. Although short on refrigerated food, dry food stuffs would be plentiful, and I'm certain starving people wouldn't object to eating cold watery flour and similar variants. Plus mum can make almost anything taste good, and dad has never objected in the past to eating stuff out of cans several years past their due by date.

I didn't have time to think this out much further, as 8am arrived, and of course nothing more exciting happened than me brushing my teeth in the bathroom (although it is to be admitted the various cracks and marks in the bathroom ceiling make for an interesting collage to look at while considering the possibility of a large chunk of ceiling falling on ones head resulting in instant death).

Death seemed to be a common thread of thought today, as I again considered the possibilities and consequences of passing away unexpectedly, and young. Perhaps I have a morbid turn of mind, but the concept fascinates me. When would go through my head, what actions would I undertake, if I knew I had only limited time to live?

While going for an evening walk and recovering from a nasty collapse in mental functioning I considered the possibility of myself having a fatal tumour in my brain and being told I had 3 years to live. This being a highly unlikely occurrence, did not stop my imagination from charging onwards (assisted by depressing music) to consider what then my life would become. I would likely be highly accepting of the fact, considering, as I feel I have led an interesting, varied, and fulfilled life, but would then endeavour to complete those most important tasks left unfinished. First and foremost, I would make certain all my original music to date was properly recorded and compiled into a presentable CD - which people could then purchase and listen to if they wished. This being done, I would endeavour to travel overseas as best my health allowed me, and expand my visual and memory horizons. I often have this strange conception that when one dies, the "afterlife" consists of that person living solely within the visual memory landscape of the life they have lived. If this were to be the case, it would be within my best interests to expand my visual landscape as much as humanly possible in the time remaining to me, though of course if by lucky chance I survived the tumour the increase in richness of memory could only assist me in my future career as a fantasy novelist.

The next, and final, port of call would be to write a novel detailing my thoughts and journey towards acceptance. In this novel hopefully I would come across as a sage and wise creature - a person to be admired - and not the silly twat I have a tendency to be now. The novel would be entitled "Alive", and would display a photograph of me on the front cover with my hair cropped short (as I would certainly have finally gotten around to getting my hair cut with the added incentive of impending death to motivate me) and with my eyes piercing into the readers soul - so I could still seem alive beyond my own passing within the photo. A little over-dramatic and tacky, perhaps, but take into account my current self is a "silly twat" but my future self, being sage and wise, would probably design the book in a much more tasteful fashion.

My funeral, of course, would be held at All Saints, and every choir member would have a solo (I'm not sure how this could be wrangled, but for my sake it would have to be done). I considered also imagining everyone learning and singing the entire Requiem (Mozart's) for my funeral, but then thought that would be too cruel, so I would settle for my favourite hymn - Sweet Sacrament Divine - instead.


The finality of the funeral drawing to its heart wrenching close, my imagination moved on to fragmented dramatics to occupy me for the rest of the walk, and after I arrived home I determined to distract myself from the feverish and anxiety driven state of mind I tend to settle into every night from around 6pm onwards by briefly skimming facebook, and writing this blog entry.

Unfortunately I'm still waiting for "the awkward moment when Rapture didn't happen" notification to pop up on facebook newsfeed so I can click the "like" button.