Keep your head up girl
Keep your head upThe sun ain’t hard to see
Just turn off your TV
Everything around you
Is just part of every other thing, I’m a tree
–Imani Coppola/I’m A Tree
Just for the record, I am not a fucking tree.
I am, as John Merrick might say, a human being.
Not that there’s anything wrong with being a tree.
I like trees.
They are pretty and stuff.
I’m just not one.
I am internally divided about the whole idea of being one with everything. I like it as a theory–I think it’s sweet–but I can’t quite buy into it. It’s too precious. Nothing that precious can be true. Not in my world view, anyway. It’d be like a Precious Moments Universe.*** I’d get Soul Diabetes and die. Sweetly. I’d rather go out kicking just a little bit. Maybe biting. I like biting.
Though I don’t really care about the actual being dead, I’m not excited about the process of dying.
Just being dead? Eh. No big. My philosophy will be “Don’t care. Dead” at that point. Except that I wouldn’t have a philosophy anymore because, you know, dead.
My ideal death, in case you are wondering, would be to spend the afternoon hanging out in a bar exchanging secrets with a certain very beautiful girlfriend before going to a doctor’s appointment. She has to leave a few minutes before I do, so we give each other a kiss and a hug, and I have another drink. Which, by the way, I enjoy immensely. The kiss and hug, too. Coming out of the bar, a beer truck careens out of control and kills me suddenly and quite unexpectedly dead. I never find out about the painful fatal illness that my doctor was going to tell me about at that appointment.
My memorial service could be at the same bar, once they fix the front of the place where the truck crashed. I’d like that, if I wasn’t dead. If it could be the Lompoc, that would be ideal, but have it wherever you want. I won’t care. You’ll like it. They have beer there.
Yes, I’ve given it some thought.
Some.
A bit.
Quite a lot.
It’s not like I really get to pick.
I bet trees don’t get to ponder their own mortality. Wait, is planning my favorite way to die the same as pondering my own mortality or should I be thinking how to make my life more meaningful in the short time I have left or something? I’m probably doing it wrong. Again.
I could accept being a human being who is part of everything, while remaining most definitely not a tree. Or a rock. Not that there is anything wrong with being a tree. Or a rock.
I really do enjoy being me though.
***Precious Moments Universe would be a good name for a band.
We are all just fine the way we are.