March 10, 2006
one of my bad habits is being maudlin

remember back here when i mentioned i did some stuff that wasn't normal?

yeah.

sometimes (all the time) i think about what will happen when i die. i don’t mean in the skinny-tie ennui hipster sense, like is-there-an-
afterlife-and-will-nick-drake-be-there
, but more like, “will the person who performs my autopsy notice the stain on the crotch of my pants?”

will they judge me based on my scabs? the eybrows i was planning on plucking when i got home, but never got to because of that whole untimely death thing? should i write a little note, and laminate it, and keep it in my purse?? because i won’t be able to explain myself, and i don’t want them sizing me up based on the weird singular hair on my arm that grows to be like five inches long in one day. i am not the red lines across my stomach from these jeans*, or the oddly shaped pattern of stubble in my nether regions.
*they fit really well standing up. i can stand all day.

will my chipped pedicure factor in? the uneven dye job? the incomplete tattoo on my side?

i have also heard that people poop when they die. this clearly will not be the case with me, as i never poop. of course by never i mean only when extremely upset, and being dead, i’m pretty sure my mood will be stable. unless in the act of dying i get all angry like, “what the fuck? i’m not ready to die! i was going to have fruitti di mare for lunch.” and then i poop because i’m sad for all the shellfish i’ll be missing. also foccacia bread. mmmmm.

what will they think of the things i keep? my movie collection? the books i read- and the passages i underlined? the naked pictures on my computer? the five deodorants in my drawer, the 35 eyeshadows, mostly green?

will they read my blog?

people probably think about this stuff more these days what with all the csi floating around out there, but i can’t remember not thinking about it. when i go places, i touch things because i want to make sure they know i was there. or i don’t, for the opposite reason (those suspicious fires were so not me.)

i am relieved to know that my being is my protection. you can’t mess with science. but i am hurt that it will eventually betray me, and all the stuff that is really me, the parts that loved demolition man (you know you did too) and spicy chicken and eating mashed potatoes with my fingers and animal crackers dipped in diet coke (shut up) (that was mostly food. this might be a problem)– all those things will be gone, and i will be just a body to people who don’t really care.

my clothes will be fibers and not style.
my skin will be a map of prior injury, and not a pretty face.
my brain will be nothing. empty. gone.

i don’t go a day without thinking pretty much this whole thing.

no wonder i’m crazy.



47 Comments:

Blogger FRITZ said...

You're VERY normal in the abnormal sense. Thank you for articulating this. I think about this constantly.

What will I look like when I die? I hope I'll have a pissed off look on my face. I hope when they bag me, they'll stare at me wonderingly, going, "Damn. She had a lot of tattoos. Is her nipple pierced?"

The truth is: the people who bag and bury us (or burn us or prepare our bodies) won't be looking at us. We'll be their job. We'll be another unit to dispose of.

And, actually, I'm okay with this. It just means in the great big end, we're all just piles of flesh with belly-button lint and crows' feet and underwear stains. It's the great common denominator.
We all get dead, and still manage to feed the capitalist machine while doing so.

Well. That's cheery. Going for a motorcycle ride. However, I'm changing my underpants.

I've seen Cinderella but I hate Disney for absurdly political reasons. Feminist reasons. Gus-gus, however, I don't think would perturb me so much.

Thanks for ranting opportunity. I've been doing it all day.

Blogger Pony Boy said...

Oh Poor baby is going to die and shit herself.

Boo fucking Hoo.

Blogger robiewankenobie said...

yeah, so, i don't worry about those things as much as i worry that leon will be too upset to go home and clean the house per his instructions.

Blogger miss kendra said...

fritz: they will say the same of me (tattoos, pierced.) i am not really ok with being just another unit. i hate that i will be someone's job. i am me!

gusgus is fairly inoffensive. have fun on your bike (be careful).

ponyboy: i thought you weren't going to fuck with me. thanks.

robiewan: i wory about that too. but in the future tense, like what if i have kids someday, will he be able to manage or will they have to live with my parents? who will make them lunches? who will do the laundry? ack.

Blogger Sleepless in Bis said...

I often think about all of this also. What will they do with my hair, I find it hard to do anything with on a daily basis and god knows there is not a good picture in exsitance for them to copy.

Who will go through my things and will they find out exactly how crazy I really am. I have asked my close friends that KNOW I am nuts to go through everything before my family arrives and burn the crazy evidence.

Blogger FRITZ said...

Poor Pony Boy is out of weed.

I think you'll always be you in the fatalistic sense. Ya know, people will remember you and stuff. Memories, nostalgia...that's all quite memorable. I guess I just think: we're different and godlike and unique (just like everyone else) and we're also animals. We get the best of both worlds...able to create and destroy, think and examine, decorate and cook. We also get to die, and just go back to where we came (whether you think of it as dirt or God or nirvana...whatev).
I love this kind of stuff. Get's my brain churning.
Thanks for the opportunity.

Blogger jiggs said...

Maybe 8 years ago, wherever I was I would imagine all the things that might kill me. Like if I was walking down the street, I would imagine a hubcap flying off of a subaru and slicing my head clean off.

Once I told a friend that I was hoping that the world would have some kind of dependency on me and therefore wouldn't want me to die and if i did die, would remember me forever.

He suggested that perhaps that was just too much responsibility; To have the whole world dependent on you. Did I want to be Atlas? And then it struck me that dying anonymously would be total freedom. There could be no shame or guilt or failure or rejection in my anonymous death.

And that chilled me out.

Please send me some of those naked pictures of you from your computer.

Blogger miss kendra said...

sleepless: now i'm worrying about the hair thing. this is not getting any better. (but i'm glad i'm not as crazy as i thought!)

fritz: i don't have to get to die. i'm okay with them keeping that from me.

jiggs: people still judge strangers. and i will consider it.

Blogger Libby said...

I have nothing profound to say, but feel like I needed to add something.

I would miss you if you disappeared one day and I don't know Boy's phone number so I can't call him to make sure you are OK.

Please move to Seattle so I would know what happened to you if your untimely death occurred.

PS - MHP would care if I died. Maybe TB would too. I think that might be it, so I try not to think of dying. It doesn't stop me.

Blogger MonkeyGurrrrrl said...

I completely and firmly embrace death. I don't give a rat's arse about what the clean-up crew will think - I will *finally* be on to the bigger and better. Or at least, NOT HERE.

I truly believe it is this thanatos that keeps me alive. Because, by all accounts, I should have been dead a looooooong time ago.

My life is one big cosmic joke.

Blogger Budding Rose said...

I often think of this topic. I do find some relief in knowing that someday I will just lay down and rest and I will not have anything left to do. How sad is that? Then I imagine my mom finding my pyrex sex toys and wondering what the hell they are -- she's pretty smart though, it won't be much of a leap. Not to many people keep kitchen appliances in the lingerie drawer!
I just hope that I leave the world with some sort of impact.

Blogger Tel said...

I've watched too many documentaries on dead people and dealing with bodies and stuff.

Rent "A Certain Kind Of Death" from Netflix. You'll know what I mean.

Those people don't care. It's all in a day's work for them.

I just hope my roommate or husband takes care of all my sex toys before my mom finds them. hehe

Blogger babyjewels said...

I hope I don't die the kind of death that requires an autopsy. But I do agree with Fritz. We're just another paper to shuffle for them. Thankfully.

Blogger miss kendra said...

libby: i think those same things about all my blogging buddies! how would i know if anything happened to them????
we should have an emergency phone chain.

monkeygurrl: you don't die because evil is immortal. mwa ha ha ha!

budding rose: i hope my mom doesn't find anything like that.

tel: i added it to the queueueue.

babyjewels: they autopsy for anything that's not obvious. do you plan to die obviously?

i want to die VERY VERY OLD.

Blogger Uccellina said...

I like this book a lot.

I had a massive seizure once and barely missed two heart attacks. Almost died. Witnesses said I foamed at the mouth, but to the best of my knowledge there was no pooping. I didn't wake up for another week, though, so I don't know for sure.

Blogger Auntie Sassy said...

When I was a little girl, after I finally grasped what death was, I used to cry myself to sleep every night because I knew everyone that I loved would die someday.

Then, after I got older, I cared less about that than I did about the fact that my mother would always use the "Make sure you're wearing clean underpants. You wouldn't want to be in an accident wearing dirty underpants."

At first, I thought "OH GOD! No, I don't!!!" But then, that even stopped being creepy and I wondered what the hell kind of people check a dead little girl's underpants to make sure they are clean.

Seriously.

Blogger Sarah Smile said...

I often think about what someone would think of me if I was missing and they searched my apartment for clues.
I have no idea why this idea fascinates me so much.
I like the laminated card idea. I may even do it.

Blogger Pony Boy said...

Pony boy is sorry...he hurts inside and has been lashing out against people he cares about.

Pony Boy loves you.

Blogger Libby said...

OK - the clean underpants? That's pretty much a moot point, since an accident would render them dirty, yes?

And the phone chain? I think we should make an email chain. DEfinitely.

Blogger Danny said...

did i really not comment on this?

I'm so sorry baby. can you forgive me?

Blogger MonkeyGurrrrrl said...

:) I am evil, aren't I?! I can tell by the delight I take in being called evil, particularly by one as righteous and noble as you.

Blogger jiggs said...

Granted, people judge strangers, but I don't give a shit about what strangers think. And also YES!

Blogger jiggs said...

Also I should add that if I'm dead, I wouldn't have the capacity to care anyway.

Blogger Nick said...

Here is a descriptive impression of Jiggs Casey:

"Deep, emotional comment. Possible revelation of feelings regarding fleeting mortality.

Douchebaggery."

Thank you, good night.

Blogger Übermilf said...

You could tattoo a message on your tummy just in case. Like, "What? It's not like YOU'RE perfect!" or "Quit looking at my boobs and just do your job!" or something.

Blogger Brookelina said...

So I'm not the only one who thinks to clean the cache on her computer in case I die and someone snoops around to see if I've been looking at porn.

Or was afraid to buy sex toys in case I die and someone in my family found them.

There is no doubt I will poop when I die. I am a regular pooper. Those with irregular pooping habits worship at my shrine.

Blogger Thérèse said...

Actually you're normal. I think everyone thinks about these things one some level and to some extent on a regular basis. To not is to be in denial of your own mortality, which is actually probably more weird.

We are the sum of our experiences. Or something like that.

Blogger Marcia said...

I can't sneeze, pick my nose or stash another of my husband's body parts in the freezer without wondering what CSI would think, in the unprecedented event of my demise.

Don't get me wrong. I like CSI. I hate what they've done to free range nose picking.

But my biggest worry is that I will die of unusual circumstances, and the CSI team will find on my computer that I, er, someone in my home, googled "vaginal odor" with "like cabbage."

I'm pretty sure that was my son though. He's in college. I know.

I also have this fantasy thing about being on the dead bed in the CSI ME's lab and that black ME lady strokes my hair and calls me "sweetie."

Blogger miss kendra said...

uccelina: i have been meaning to read that for ages. i’m pretty sure i’ve foamed at the mouth before, but there are no witnesses left to verify.

sassy: sometimes i dream about people i love dying and wake myself up crying. crying in my sleep. who does that?

(and the little girls’ underpants thing is so true. thank you.)

valancy jane: they would think, “who the hell is going to take care of all these pets?” and possibly, “nice cow lights.”

ponyboy: you are trouble. if i am friends with you, can i still go to the movies with the socs?

libby: who will organize the email chain? normally this would totally be my style, but i am threatened by largescale operations as of late. we need someone highly motivated… hmmmm… how strange. no volunteers.

danny: i think we’ve established that i can.

monkeygurrl: you’re right, i am totally noble. noble means reformed-slutty right?

jiggs: what if ghosts can care? i like to worry about every possible scenario so that no possible occurrence would be a surprise. i’m what we like to call “crazypants.”

nick: you are very good at this. now do one of me.

ubermilf: the boobs one would be good at the beach too. those lifeguards are lookie-lous.

brooke: i try to clear my cache very often. no one needs to know that i sometimes secretly read the online diaries of washed up pop stars. (they’re HILARIOUS!)

therese: you have a lot of experience with fish poop, i hear. i find this fascinating.

marcia: i want the csi people to think i’m pretty. because even when i’m dead, it will count.

Blogger MonkeyGurrrrrl said...

I once had a (very tiny) lycra tank that had "STOP LOOKING AT MY BOOBS!!" printed on it. Most folks would read it and laugh, but there was this one guy that got all flustered and defensive.

I think it was Nick.

Blogger Nick said...

Most likely.

Blogger jiggs said...

Think of it this way, if ghosts can care, you can irritate and annoy those that do judge you and they have no recourse against you.

Blogger robiewankenobie said...

i know that the leon will be fine without me. a lovely trademark of the husband. he wants me? but he doesn't neeeeeeeed me. a damn good father, that man. he's just got to remember to leave the hospital and clean the daggone house before anyone comes over. i don't want to be thought of as a slob when i'm dead. "she was a lovely woman, but have you SEEN the inside of her microwave?"

i worried about dying every day from the time that my great uncle died when i was eight, up until this year. in all honesty, this drug? has made my life so much easier. i do a gut check every once in awhile. i think "i'm going to die someday." and i don't freak out. i think that's a good sign. if only i had known that those antidepressants would make my anxiety that much worse...i could have been on this peaceful journey a long time ago. pfffft on the modern science.

Blogger Laurie Ann said...

I don't necessarily worry about the paramedics or coroner judging me. I worry about my evil landlord coming into my apartment before my family gets there and taking anything of value or hiring some random cleaning crew to empty the place. I have jewelry that I'd want my nieces to have, journals that I don't want my mom to read, but my sister has permission, and the good china that I inherited and which should stay in the family. And, quite frankly, I'm a ghastly housekeeper. I worry that my nosey neighbor from downstairs will gossip to all the other neighbors about the five inch layer of dust on the baseboards or the odd stains on the bathroom walls because I cannot dye my hair without making a mess (it's really long).

I also get temporarily obsessed with my DNA being everywhere. Like the eyelash that condemned Ethan Hawke in Gattica. Because my hair falls out all over town.

I'm willing to be the keeper of the contact list, if no one else is willing.

Blogger CommonWombat said...

I don't know what that shit's all about, but I wanted to say it's not MY sally doing it!

Blogger CommonWombat said...

Also, I'm the opposite of you... I could care less about the minutia of what's done with my body after I die, but experiense true existential dread frequently. I think about my own mortality a LOT. Every now and then I touch upon an honest realization of what it would mean to no longer exist, and it terrifies me more than I can possibly describe.

If I wasn't 85% certain there is no god, I'd run screaming straight to Jesus. I swear.

Blogger Nick said...

Mmmm.... Nothing tastes better than a piping hot bowl of Cream of Feet.

Blogger Thérèse said...

I am indeed fish poopally experienced and can tell you loads of things. What would you like to know about fish poo?

Blogger Spinning Girl said...

Nice spam.

Just realized I already commented on this. (See Freak Show known as BR, above).

Now I am caught up on your blog!

Where to next?

Blogger Krystle said...

You're definitely not abnormal. I think everyone thinks about this kinda stuff at some point or another...I mean "they" always say to remember to wear clean underwear everyday in case you die in some weird, freak, piano out a window accident. SOMEBODY had to think that up.

Also, I like to think that even if I'm dead and gone and the coroner is looking at what was once my shell, that he'll see little parts of me from the things on my body. That my flesh and clothes and unshaven legs will tell a story. I don't think anyone can look at another human being who has died and not think about how they felt or what went on in their minds.

That's my take on it.

Blogger miss kendra said...

monkeygurrl: for my seventeenth birthday my friend gave me a shirt that said (in teeny tiny letters) across my boobs “still jailbait.” how would nick feel about that?

nick: monkeygurrl has nice boobs. they won’t hurt you.

jiggs: like this?

robiewan: i promise not to judge you by your microwave if you promise not to judge me by my unmapped floors.

laurie ann: may i read your journals? just kidding. or am i?

wombat: you know, when i saw the name sally in my mailbox i got really excited that she had finally come to visit me… and then this. your wife has a foul mouth.

the whole thing scares me and makes me want to drink. oh, and uh, if you care not what happens with your body, could i do your autopsy? i watched one on tv.

nick: this terrifies me.

therese: why do goldfish seem to poo more than beta fish? is fish poo similar to people poo? does fish poo contribute to society?

spinning girl: oh! i thought she sounded smart.

krystle: my unshaven legs will tell a novel. well, maybe a novella. but definitely more than a story.

Blogger Autumn said...

i purposely wear my pants a size to big just to avoid those red lines, just incase...

Blogger Libby said...

I will email you if I die. Or get in an accident.

Or better yet - I will pin a note on my shirt in case I get in an accident that says "Please email Miss Kendra at {insert email here} if you find me and i'm dead. Thanks."

Blogger miss kendra said...

autumn: brilliant. this is really a good plan. now if only i could get small enough that my clothes would be too big, or unpoor enough to buy new ones. i am bitter today. feed me.

libby: that really would make me feel better.

Blogger Yeti said...

Yeti's are known for their large feet, in case anyone was, you know, wondering.

Blogger me said...

why don't you rip all your jeans apart and sew them back together. with underpants. (this is to get rid of the red linage)

i don't know why, just do it.

also, please find yourself welcome some excess sunshine to make you less bitter, although because you are in la you probably already have sunshine in excess. but not my sunshine.

Blogger jiggs said...

exactly

Post a Comment

<< Home

golden state