This asshole has now replied to my email twice telling me I have to send the sign off to Bob Zook. WTF???? I am to give the piece of paper that was given to me back to the guy who gave it to me??? Each note carries a paragraph is condescension 'it is not my place to do this part of the job for you'. AAAAASSSSSHHHHHOOOOOOLLLLLLEEEEE
I don't need Calgon to take me away, I need it to take him away and soon, please.
Last night, during the 30 minutes I was trying to return to normal breathing, I wondered if I would just stop breathing all together. I remembered, gratefully, that the dishes were washed and the kitchen was clean. There is a lot of dirty laundry but it's all in the basket. My brother will be the one to clean up after I die and he has all my passwords, is joint on my bank account and has all the legal stuff under control. It really was comforting to have everything in place.
Swimming gives me a wonderful hour every day when there are nearly zero distractions. The pool got new lane lines so that was a little fun distraction today but mostly it's me and my imagination with the sound track.
Today while I swam, I thought more of my death. And remembered my friend, John's. John died exactly like he wanted and like I want to. By myself, in my own bed. His sister called me to tell me and ask if I knew his passwords. He was in California. She was in Chicago. I was in Seattle. By the time she got to California, I had a plan to get access to everything she needed but... she found... by his bed, a notebook of all the names and telephone numbers and passwords she needed after his death. He was organized and he was ready and he was a great roll model for me.
The last song playing as I got out of the pool was Barbra Streisand's One More Look At You. Which was a bit more dramatic than I felt about it all. Part of me would love to meet John for drinks and dinner and a good long visit and part of me is fine leaving well enough alone.