death letter

So my new favourite thing to do on the bus (other than forgetting to wear underwear and then leaving my brand new mittens under a seat dammit) is to listen to podcasts. I know, I'm lame (what is this, 2005?)—but they occupy my ears from the door of my house to the exact moment I enter the classroom.

It's beautiful timing, really.

Anyway, since I've already had my fill of CBC R3-30's this week, I decided to delve into Sook-Yin Lee's best of Definitely Not the Opera. It was lovely! On the way to UBC I heard all about the words "thank you" and how it seems to have lost all meaning and connection to actual gratitude.

(This was particularly entertaining as various people exiting the bus yelled "thank you!!!" at the bus driver and then I too uttered more meaningless thanks to the guy at the coursepack-selling place). (He probably thought my ironic smirk was weird and/or rude but I have to stop because these brackets are getting a little bit irrelevent).

So yeah, on my way home the topic was death. They interviewed one of the dudes from the Awkward Stage (who apparently worked as a crematory operator) and he sang a very compelling song about dandilions. Then that inevitable question sprung up in my mind: what would happen if this bus crashed and I died, like, right now?

Who would show up at my funeral? What kind of music would they play (or would somebody maybe choose to sing or play piano)? Would I have already said the right things to the right people? Who would take care of my cat? Would somebody end up raiding my hard drive just to figure out more about me, or would they leave my digital personality alone?

Come to think of it, which one of you crazy folks would tell my mom about my blog? (Sidenote: don't do it! EVER). Anyway, if you're ever stranded on a cold, uncomfortable bus, DNTO is a super amazing provider of tasty food for thought. The end.