Let’s all ruin a perfectly nice day and think about depressing stuff

This is my new meditation track. I don’t even need to play the game. 

 

I really need to write my will and advance directives. Not that there’s anything imminent on the horizon, but because these are Things That Must Be Done.

Actually, I have an ever-growing list of Adulting I really should start tackling rather than just making endless lists and then losing them. With a wedding and house hunting on the horizon, I’ve actively been sabotaging these efforts. And so the adulting continues to loom.

Most of the marriage adulting to-dos are normal—gotta combine the insurances; need to think about joint savings; keep trying to convince Jeremy we should both switch last names, just to mess with other people—but the morbid tasks are the ones that seem to take a lot of people aback. And I’ll be honest: I hate thinking about my eventual demise. I hate thinking about anyone’s demise. Death freaks me the smeg out.

But those documents are staying on the list, along with researching long term health care plans and life insurance. I’ve written publicly before, both here and in Social Media Land, about caring for my grandmother in the year before she passed. Being a caregiver for someone you love is the best worst thing ever. You get the bonus of spending time you might not otherwise, but you also get all the stress, the worries, the lonlieness. Medical appointments and keeping set routines swallow up your world. And when the gig ends, you’re left untethered and obsessive.

What could you have done differently? Did you do enough? What if you had been there just one more day? Was the inevitable decline actually your fault? In the end, these are useless questions, neurotic enough to send anyone into cycles of depression and guilt.

The truth is, none of us can hold onto the present. Nothing is stagnant; after all, even rocks erode. Time—be it linear, circular, cruel, or or dulling—progresses, and we have a choice to face it or turn away.

Personally, I’d prefer to sing the Lah-Lah-Lah-Not-Listening song, but I can’t ignore the lesson my grandmother gave me. Any preparation for long-term illness and/or death is gift to the people who love you. And, in a way, addressing the bleaker aspects of our existence is a form of self-care.

So, I’m going to do the paperwork.

And I’m going to buy a nice bucket to store it all in.*

And then I’m going to have to think of a better wedding gift to give Jeremy.

Like this. (Hey, we live in Baltimore. This is totally apropos.)

 

 

*Because BUCKET LIST. GET IT?? GET IT???!!!!!

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