sleepless

I am feeling better today, despite having pulled an all-nighter last night. I had a lot of homework to finish (procrastination strikes again) and I printed the last paper at 6:00am this morning. I do realize that I am too old to do this anymore. Four cups of coffee and a couple of protein bars later, I am home from school. This evening, I am babysitting the grandchildren.

The highlight of my evening and the event that changed my mood, was talking to him. I had a very strong need and desire to connect with him last night. About the time when I decided it wasn't going to happen, he popped up online. It was just the distraction I needed to improve my outlook and get me motivated.

School was good today. I am taking a class on death and dying, believe it or not, it is my favorite class. I am discovering a lot about myself. The class forces me to reflect and to become philosophical. Name the great women philosophers. Exactly! In all seriousness, there have been a few. Simone de Bouvier and Ayn Rand to name a couple. But they were more of thinkers, not philosophers. Women tend to wax poetic about life, as opposed to men who develop analytical theories about why we are and how we think. Since philosophy has lost prestige and popularity to pop culture and celebutantes, it has slipped from my list of my desired professions. Otherwise, I would be all about that.

Back to death, it is inevitable, we will all experience it, it is one thing that all human beings will share. So, why do we, as a culture, find it so hard to talk about? We shun the very word for euphemisms, passed on, departed, losing a loved one. We say eternal slumber, went to heaven, when we mean dead. I personally, am going to die, I won't be lost, departed or sleeping. After that happens, my body will decompose and return to the earth. If I had my preferences, I would be buried in the back yard next to Havoc. That body will no longer be me.

What I hope for my post mortem existence is a long legacy. I want to be remembered, I want my children to yell at their kids and then think, "Oh god, I am becoming Mom!" I want them to practice holiday traditions, because I did. I want them to commiserate that what they got from me was a big butt and a penchant for sarcasm. I want them to fight over who gets what music box and Christmas ornament. I want them to tell, "Can you believe she used to..." stories. I want them to love dogs. As my body becomes a lush green spot in the back yard, I want to live eternally through the DNA I passed on through my progeny. No vanity here.