mrs-roboto's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Morbid Fascination Well, I'm alive and feeling better. Not 100% yet but better. It looks like Pete won't have to seek out a second wife after all, at least not yet. One of the things I find funny is discussing my life after Pete dies. I know, I know....... it's kind of sick. Pete doesn't find this humorous at all but I really can't help myself. I just do it almost without thinking. It all started out innocently enough. I believe the first comment I ever made regarding my future widowhood was along the lines of "when you die, I doubt I'll ever remarry because I know I'd never find someone as perfect for me as you. If I remarried at it all it would be for companionship not love." Now that is a compliment, wouldn't you say? I actually think that's a very flattering statement about our compatibility. Pete felt slightly differently though. He wondered why I was speaking about his death when he was still in his twenties (this was three or four years ago) and how did I know he'd go first? I told him I certainly wasn't looking forward to his passing but statistically, he'd be in the ground before me because a) he is both older than me, b) he is male and c) genetically the women in my family live well into their 90's. I added that he should look on the bright side. I was clearly planning to spend the rest of my life with him based on what I had said and it was meant to be testament to my love. Pete grimaced and changed the topic. A few days later as I was heading home on the bus I was overcome by another thought. When Peter dies, I will take up smoking again for at least a year. Why this thought came to me at that moment I don't know. It was just a random thought, I had no control over it. Perhaps I was simply having a cigarette craving. Who knows? The thing is, I should have let it go but I felt the need to share. I entered our home and when Pete greeted me I told him of my plan. He just shook his head at me. "It makes sense though," I pleaded. "I'll be lonely and smoking will make me feel better." Pete reminded me he was not dead, nor did I have a crystal ball to predict when he would die and if I wanted a smoke, I should just have one rather than wait for him to keel over. I let the whole thing drop rather than explain again that I was not waiting for him to die, just mentally preparing for the inevitable. About a week after the smoking incident, I mentioned that if we were living outside of the city when Pete died (sidenote: we have a "cabin-in-the-woods-and-a-simpler-life" dream to which I am referring here), I'd move back to Seattle and live out my years in the North End. "You know," I said. "I'd want to be able to get around without a car and be close to good medical facilities and stuff. Maybe, I'll join a senior center. Do you think I should learn how to crochet?" Pete looked at me with fire in his eyes. "I'm still here!!! I'm not even close to dying. Can you keep your life after my death fantasies to yourself for awhile? It's as if your looking forward to this." I assured him I was not looking forward to his death but it was a fact of life. Someday, he will die and I will live. This is how it goes. Pete rattled some statistics about the likelihood of us dying in a car crash together (he'd clearly been doing his research after our last discussion) and requested once again that I drop it. Now, I never let anything go for long especially when I think it's amusing (added incentive when it seems to piss Pete off). The next evening when we were out at dinner with some friends, I mentioned that when Pete died I was planning to get about five dascshunds to keep me company. I don't really like cats so I'd have to become the crazy dog lady. I'd amble through the neighborhood with my pack of pups and a walker, wearing a million colorful clips and bows in my hair and singing "You Are My Sunshine." Doesn't that sound hilarious to you? I mean get a visual here. Little old me, shuffling along with a T-shirt that says "Wieners Are Winners!" Oh, even better! I'll get one of those Rascal scooters and have my dogs jog along side it! Have you ever seen a dachshunds run? That alone is enough to make you pee your pants. I mean, you have to admit this is funny, right? Well no one at the table laughed. Apparently, talking about your spouses death and your potential for insanity do not make for good dinner conversation. Who knew? 11:27 a.m. - 2003-04-24 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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