Forgive me, Pajibans, for I’ve been unable to concentrate on anything movie or television related in several days. Hell, I couldn’t even enjoy last night’s episode of “Justified,” so I’m creating a wee diversion here.
Over the weekend, I was gorging myself at a little hole in the wall Mexican restaurant called Cancun after my 25K race. I met my goal for finishing in the top 15 out of 126 women, but the resultant bit of joy was tempered by the fact that I hauled ass for 15 1/2 miles only to have two 10-year-old boys pass me right before the finish line (bastards). A little side note — I’ve been given a bit of a lecture on Twitter about how I am too “self congratulatory” because I talk about running road races, so let me just say that while I am a bit overenthusiastic about the sport that (not quite literally) saved my life (it’s more of a mental than a physical thing), I am merely introducing this topic here for context. Let’s just say that I was utterly ravenous in a very uncontrollable and impulsive way. Like a zombie perhaps.
At dinner, the topic of conversation somehow shifted into how one of my friends, a multiple marathoner, would like his body to be disposed of if he ever, say, dies while running the almighty 26.2 miles without stopping. Hey, it happens, so this is a practical consideration. His answer: “Dig a hole, and bury me right there. I’ll have died doing what makes me happy.” Admittedly, he has a point. Further, he didn’t even seem to care about what happened to his body, and his argument on the matter was that he didn’t care if the insects came and devoured him almost immediately upon burial because it’s not as if he’d feel it happening. My response? “But you never know …”
Then the subject morphed into a discussion of the outrageous sums that people spend on funerals these days. A few years ago, several members of my extended family passed away, and I was forced to listen to the massive bitching over one of the funerals, which apparently cost around $10,000. And it’s not that anyone else had to pay for these ceremonies because the recipients paid for them ahead of time. Nope, the bitching came from people who envied the deceased parties’ rather lavish coffins and flower arrangements. Very strange. I just don’t understand paying for all that crap when you can’t even enjoy it when you’re dead. At least my dinner mates wholly agreed on that point if not on the next one.
With that said, I’d not only like my death to be an inexpensive one, but I’d prefer to find a way to ensure that there’s no way I’ll ever rise from the dead and become a zombie or something. Sure, you usually have to be bitten to become a zombie in most zombie movies, but I just want to be extra careful while making sure there’s no way that I’ll ever join the horde. Hence … cremation. I realize that there are considerations (religious or otherwise) for everyone when realizing what form of burial to choose. For me, it’s about avoiding the inevitable worm feeding as well as the irrational fear of someday joining the zombie uprising. Also, cremation is much cheaper than going with the traditional Western funeral with fancy, overwrought coffin and limousine service.
So here is my roundabout question for you: As morbid as it sounds, how do you feel about what happens to your body after its physical death? Do you have a plan?
Agent Bedhead lives in Tulsa, Oklahoma. She and her little black heart can be found at Celebitchy.