Where there’s a will…

…there’s someone considering their own mortality. This is where I find myself this evening. My father, the pastor-lawyer hybrid, called to ask me about updating my will. This call did not surprise me, nor upset me. I had been thinking about it this past week on my own. I realize that most people my age do not think about wills, but most people my age don’t have a 3rd grader and a mortgage.

We discussed in wide focus the important things, like who will be the guardian of my children, who will be responsible for the house, who makes sure the children don’t spend all of the money on Jonas Brothers licensed crap. After hanging up the phone, I continued to think on the things that will follow my death.

I thought about how happy my children would be living with my little sister (who may not be currently thrilled with her life but of whose life I am extremely jealous). I thought about the places they’d go and the things they’d sew and the indie folk songs they’d sing. I thought about the vegetarian food they’d eat, and about them teaching their cats to get along with their auntie’s cats.

Which was all quite depressing. So I started to think about things I like about life. My children. Their cats. My friends. My house. My bicycle. My family. My owl pajamas and slippers which do not match but are still quite coordinated. Malt vinegar. Men in kilts. Cardigans. Books. Libraries full of books. Bookstores. Sufjan Stevens. NPR. Crab Rangoon. The Gilmore Girls. My tattoos. Buttons. British T.V. shows. Soccer. Guitar Hero. Smores made with marshmallows that are completely burnt. Candy buttons, which should not be confused with regular buttons, which I have already mentioned. T-shirt sheets. My MacBook. Naps.

Consequently, my mind wandered to things I do not like. Pearl Jam. Bad grammar. Sci-Fi. Cancer. Jelly beans. Pennies. Perky baristas at 6:30am. People who say one thing and do another. August. Julia Roberts. The 700 Club. So-called morning news programs. Morning radio programs. Feelings and the people who feel it necessary to share them all with you. The sound the dumpster door makes when you slide it open. Hospitals. Nursing homes. Saxophone. Guns. War. Hate. Suffering. Poverty. Gas prices. The need for gas. The sound my alarm clock makes. My right foot. My choices. My self.

And I find myself back at the beginning of my circle…my self, my life, and my death. And I sit here and plan for it, just in case, and not really believing that it will every happen, while knowing full well that it will.