Dying is easy, comedy is hard

The dead have so much less to worry about.  Let the mail pile up.  Pay or don’t pay the bills, doesn’t matter.  Don’t worry about the leaky roof, the peeling paint.  Let the car sit out in the drive rather than protected in the garage.  Supervisors be damned.  Paperwork piles up, everything falls behind.  Calls to friends unmade, letters not returned.  No matter.  Even if everyone gets angry, which they won’t, the dead don’t care.  They’re out of reach.  Incommunicado.  No need to keep up.  No need to apologize.  Nothing has to be said or done.  No amends to make.  Let the tv stay on, the veggies rot in the crisper.  The dead won’t care.  Doesn’t concern them.

And what IS there to worry about for the dead?  Coming back to life, I think, the only error or misstep they can make.  And that’s happened very infrequently.  So even that is a small concern.  I’ve never excelled at much, so I’m sure that’s not something I’ll have to worry about.  When dead, I’ll stay dead.  May even revel in it.  Catch up on my napping, on doing nothing. 


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