The Big Day is nearly here and there is still so much not done.
This blog, for instance. I have nineteen unfinished articles.
I wish I could say they were filled with aspirations and reconciliations. They aren't. That's caused me to be grumpy. "Growls at nothing" should be carved on my tombstone.
Not that I need one. I want my ashes scattered in Ohio. Preferably in a federally owned wilderness area or conservation land. I can haunt poachers.
It needs to be said: I am not a "nature person". I have physical limitations which are readily apparent to predators; I flop and flail on trails. I am allergic to insect bites and stings. I get lost easily. I hate camping.
I love the woods and woodland creatures, so I love the idea that ghosts don't worry about insect bites and falling down hills. And nobody would bother my ghostly ass if I'm haunting a government-owned forest. But, knowing my bad luck, I would end up in a Jǫtunheimr guarded by an asinine jǫtunn.
Hey, it isn't that I have issues with jötnar. Live and let die, and all that goes along with that. I just don't want to spend eternity with a poopwhistle.
I imagine the initial conversation would go something like this:
Me: Well, hello there! I don't seem to have a coffeepot anymore, but come on in!
Jötunn: [deathbed rattling sound]
Me: Ooo-kay. Hey, are those fuzzy things over there mammoths?
Jötunn: [deathbed rattling sound]
Me: Um, you do know this is Pennsylvania, yeah? Not Norway.
Jötunn: [deathbed rattling sound]
Me: ...
Jötunn: [deathbed rattling sound]
Yeah, that is not what I envision for my eternal rest. Better to stay alive and dream about all the stuff I'll catch up on...after surgery and recovery.