No Boxes!

I told my mom this weekend that I didn’t want to be buried in a box when I die, I have my issues with closed in spaces and the dark so it shouldn’t be that surprising to anyone to hear that I don’t care to be buried, tiny dark places always get wet and stinky and I don’t want moss growing on me. I don’t care if I’m not in that body anymore, that’s not the point. The point is that i’m asking to not be buried, so don’t bury me. Cremate me. Use my ashes to make a pair of diamond earings, fertilize your garden with me or mix me with paint and make some art. Do not stick me in a box. I mean it. Because you never know, you’ll think I’m dead but then I might return in a few months with amnesia, marry my third husband’s murderer, have an affair with my stepson, get divorced, turn evil, and die again. Surprise! It was really my twin brother all along! You don’t want the chance of that happening do you? No. So don’t bury me, crispy fry me and mix me with some glitter then toss me someplace so that I scatter. It’ll be fun.