I realized today that I could die today. Or tomorrow. Or whenever. I don’t really know when.
AND SO COULD YOU, THE PEOPLE I LIKE.
And if I did die, my last few tweets, or facebook posts, or stories, would be the memories people had of me. They would look at those posts and say “wow, she died only a few hours after writing that. I can’t believe her last tweet was about Canadian politics. That’s boring.”, or, her last text to me was a meme about “llama make it up to you. That’s lame.”, or, her last facebook post was her latest story on”robot laser cats… okay, that sounds pretty great.”
Existential crisis here. Death really freaks me out. I don’t want the people I like going anywhere.
Then I thought, hey, you selfish bastard, stop thinking about death. Nobody likes talking about it. Go write a story about those robot laser cats you promised.