So I was late for an assignment in university and my friend says, “You’re dead.”   Which is peculiar because I didn’t feel dead.  Anyhow how would dead “feel”? Then he goes on and says, “you’re deader than a doornail.”    But really, how dead can a doornail be?  Was it ever alive?  Can you have visions of doornails slithering like snakes up the wall until they find their place in the door posts? 

His next comment was that I was “dead meat”.  Well, I certainly didn’t think of myself as living meat either, a kind of bizarre and disgusting thought.   And any meat I have for supper I would hope is dead meat – nothing could survive the koshering process.  But his final comment really shocked me.  “Your professor is going to chew you up and spit you out.”  If the professor was going to do that, I think I would prefer to be dead at the time.

This dead business is strange.  Like I played the music in my apartment loud enough to wake the dead but all that happened was that people downstairs kept banging on their ceiling with a broom handle.   I guess they didn’t want to wake the dead either.  This seems to be something to avoid.   Although I am not sure what the dead guy would say if I woke him up.  I think he would thank me, unlike the people downstairs.

The big fear I have is that if I woke the dead they would all look like Michael Jackson.   Which is definitely a turn-off.  But I don’t know.  When I shuffle off this mortal coil, I give you permission to play music loud enough to wake me.  I would be curious to see what the world was like without me.

And I am sure if I appeared in response to your blasting of heavy metal on the CD player, I would look like death warmed over.   Which is okay when you come to think of it because you can get pretty cold when you’ve passed on and I wouldn’t mind having a little heat.  My toes already get cold at night.

I have been told by private detectives in movies that “dead men don’t talk.”  I think that is preferable because if they did talk it would probably create enough din – to wake the dead and then where would we be?  Back up in paragraph 3.

Someone told me the other day that they were afraid I was disappearing because I have lost about eighty pounds in a year and a half.  I answered that I planned to reduce my weight to zero by the time I was 120 when I would disappear entirely. 

“But you’re still young!” came the shocked reply, completely ignoring my implication that I would live for 120 years.

So, when the doctor says to you, “you’re going to die,” you can always answer “this is news?  I always knew that being alive was a fatal condition.”

Apparently, no one gets out of this world alive (ba-dum bum).

My son, the twelve year old philosopher, said to me when we were at Dovercourt Swimming Pool waiting for the water slide, “you know Dad, living is like standing in line for the slide.  You start at the back of the line and it seems like you are hardly moving.  Then you get closer and things go a little faster.  Then you’re on the ladder.  Then all of a sudden, you’re next and finally, it’s your turn.  You have to go down the slide.”

So remember this bit of wisdom and don’t just stand around waiting while you’re in line.   Read a good book.  Listen to some music.  Tell a joke.  Enjoy the time.  And above all, let anyone butt in who wants to.