Ramble, Ramble

There is a certain freedom in a singular existence BUT I don’t think it’s correct. There’s too much room for internalization and thus, distortion of what the world is really like. It’s too easy to disappear. And it’s sad.

I know that if I croaked this coming Friday night, no one would miss me until at least Tuesday when my boss would tell someone that I didn’t show up for work two days in a row and someone else would suggest that they call a hospital or two and getting no result, someone else would suggest calling the police, who wouldn’t have cause to break the door down, unless it had been really warm over the weekend and they could smell my rotting corpse through the only open window in my apartment while noting that my cars were indeed in the driveway, so they would call the DA who would tell them to wait until tomorrow and try again at which point, after a hectic Wednesday calendar at the Sussex County Courthouse nailing petty thieves and speeders, he would ask the Judge to issue a warrant which he would grant and they would come back to the place and break down the door and find me seeping and bloated on the kitchen floor.

I have no cat, so my face would be intact.

No, I’d rather buy the farm with someone in attendance, thank you, and not just anyone, but someone who would make sure that they toast me up rather than set me down in a dirt tomb for all eternity or until the sun exploded. I’d rather know that there was someone waiting for me, someone who would miss me when I was missing, someone who would make sure that the right things happened when I couldn’t make sure for myself, someone I would kill for, someone I would die for. That’s all I want. Maybe it’s too much to ask.