Well, not this exact space, but I feel like some of you who have a propensity to get all squirrelly when I write certain kinds of posts, could use some advance warning, before I drop the bomb on you.
I stayed up half of last night, writing my last will and testament in my head. I usually write with no or at least very little advance preparation, and I can go to sleep within 30 seconds, but I surely tossed and turned last night.
Whole lotta things to think about. People to think about. Considerations.
You see, the VA has killed me. It is just a matter of time. Around this time last year, I nearly died, and was brought back from the edge by the wife, and some good doctoring at a new facility. But, the damage was done.
And it doesn't bug me a bit. Well, I worry about the handful of humans I am pretty sure I love, and how they will handle their own futures, but mine is definitely limited. And no, I have no real official diagnosis of that fact, I just know it to be so. The way a goose knows to fly back north in Spring. And that goose has walked across my grave.
I'm not asking for sympathy. Or advice. Or anything else, for that matter. No whiners.
I've been a vital man all of my life, and now I am not so much of one, and I am ready to step up on that platform and ride that train to wherever it goes. I bought the ticket. I'm sure my personal lifestyle over many decades has contributed to my current...situation.
So, soon, I shall post my last will and testament up here, because my family is spread all over the world. And I don't want to pay a lawyer. And I will have hundreds of witnesses, so fuck a notary, too. Plus, thinking of myself cooling in a box in the next room while some turd gets paid to read my words to whatever family made it there just gives me the creeps.
Oh, and in case I die in my sleep tonight before writing it, the wife gets everything I own, and passes it out to whatever family as wants it. We've discussed it before. And yes, she freaks out. And remember to tell her to make sure my Dad gets his Dad's Winchester back, and my .44. He still thinks it's his.
And Wendy, you can shitcan this blog, or whatever you want, just please burn a copy of it for each member of my close family first.
Now, see there? Some of you are nutting up already. And I'm gonna stop right here on this post. I haven't even touched on half the shit I thought of last night.