Okay this was one of my favorite ever posts and I didn’t have the readership then… Enjoy!!!
Like most self-respecting depressives I have gotten great joy over the years from picturing my funeral. How well attended it would be. How somber an occasion and yet how buoyant the talk of what a shining light I was. The crying, the moaning, the wailing, in betwixt the tears of laughter and joy, for those lucky enough to have known me, but not well enough to know the real me, the one that caused all the crying in life.
My children attend in perfectly tailored black suits and shiny shoes, their hair perfectly groomed. Somehow someone has gotten them to brush it, and also scraped the dark detritus from beneath their fingernails. These are modern miracles, and all those who have known the children gaze upon them with awe. The audience sighs collectively – the children will be all right.
My separated husband, being a Jew, has torn his clothes…
View original post 435 more words