Jeez, doing a will is depressing. And not just your average, garden-variety, depressing either…it’s mind numbing, bone-chilling, depressing. Bleh!
Before the boy was born, I had a hoot with my will. There is more goofy stuff in my will than in Howard Hughes’s…for instance, one part specified that before I was cremated, I had to be dressed in a ball gown, leather jacket, doc martin boots and a tiara…so I was dressed for any occasion in the afterlife. (OK…to be fair, I’m leaving that part in.) See, writing things like that is just fun, because you can imagine the looks on people’s faces when they read it. Also, I was young enough then to still consider myself immortal.
Now, with the boy, it’s just creepy to have to think about death. Makes me all weepy and stuff. Which is probably why I’ve been putting it off for so long…but damn, this is no fun. I think maybe I’ll wait to finish it until I’ve passed that time of the month where commercials make me cry. Else I’m just going to end up standing over the boy’s crib sobbing…and that tends to freak out little kids.