About this time last year, I died. When I found myself undead, I had all the same epiphanies that other undead people report to have had - "life is precious", "make every day count"... But when life goes on...it really goes on.
I should be curing cancer, bunjy jumping, donating my material trappings to the destitute, renewing my vows and hearing an epic score every time I open my eyes in the morning. But when I open my eyes in the morning, I hear a baby cry, a husband snore, the toilet beckon and the silence where the birds should be because it's still too dark to constitute morning yet.
I am not currently on a peace-keeping mission to some war-torn place I don't have time to read about. I'm currently sitting under a tree, shamefully smoking cigarettes, avoiding laundry, waiting for potatoes and my husband and child to get back from walking the dogs. My time is precious and limited. The little I have, I'm wasting bemoaning the fact that I have so little time.
I used to have a career. It was crap, but it was mine. I used to be sexy, dangerous, covered in flawless skin. I used to be able to afford skin cream. I used to bunjy-jump.
My purpose here is DIY therapy, because I don't have time for the real thing. My goal is to find a better life after death than the one I'm living. It may involve honesty, daring, perserverance, humility, compromise and jogging, but it has to be done. And if I can get away with not having to jog, less strenuous suggestions are welcome.
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