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Volume 3 #1 February 5, 2001
Death. Now there's a real downbeat grabber. But lately I've been feeling a sense of sadness... melancholia... malaise. Many of my friends and acquaintances have been complaining of the same symptoms. We are not teenagers anymore. Our dreams and wishes haven't been realized and we're not at the designated dot on our road maps of life. We're not Rich n' Famous. We haven't gotten where the jet setters get. Written the best selling novel with Hollywood studios beating down our doors to option it to be the next knock 'em down box office hit. We are in a rotted out rut! Face it. It's time to consider our everlasting Fates. I'm a Christian. Not a good one as this consensus of observation will prove. At least, I'm not one of those fanatic-dripping with ill-gotten gold ones. I've watched them on those give more money televangelist feasts. See, I've just violated the "judge not lest ye be judged..." I'm aiming at Paul and Jan Crouch. They're on the TeeVee money train every time I glide on my remote. Hey! Would I lie? Jan's hair tower and spackled on make up could feed her "babyshies" in Haiti until they obtain their doctorates at Harvard! Then there's Paul's expanding circumference. I don't think he ever gets off that crouch ... er couch. Benny Hinn: who beat the rap as a fraud, I can only theorize here, by somehow "losing" a few of his Cadillacs to his accusers. I thought that legal tender was the root (or route) of all evil. Don't give me that "render unto Caesar's" lip. It served as the original cop-out for centuries. Back to the future! Back to el muerto. Biting the bullet. The dust. Passing on. However you try to saccharinize it; we all gotta turn our faces up and submit. We're not immortal! You can freeze your body. Clone it. That's a frightening piece of desperation. By the way, did anyone ask that sheep to sign a consent form? I'm an individual. I don't want some uppity carbon copy wandering about with some sort of delusionary complex giving a bad rep to my multilevel personality. The Lord God created it for me and only me! Another quandary: how to dispose of earthly remains. I don't know if I should be planted 'cause even the graveyards are over populated. That's an ironic thought. I think I favor cremation. My ashes scattered over Carmel Bay. I've always found it to be the most serene place on planet Earth. I want to go with the sea otters. They're optimistic little beings. Maybe I can absorb some of that. I'm certain that I will have to do some fancy dancin' when (I gotta think positively about this) I face Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates. I'm a terrific dancer so maybe I can dazzle him with that. Nope. I need to keep believing and try to do the best I know how. Sir, I will have a lot of questions for you. You might just want to let me in 'cause I'll wear you out. It's worth a try! I suppose I've sufficiently depressed all of you who were happily humming the "I've Gotten Through the Holiday Blues" tune. Sorry about that. Go on chanting "Don't Worry Be Happy". Just beware of undertakers dressed in satin and bearing coffins!
©2000 Carol Ann Carson
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