Write One Leaf About Imagining Your Own Funeral

Just going to post my collection of "leaves" from the last couple of
months. Most of were without planning and completely unedited. They
were just a bit of fun.

So I was dreaming, right? One of those feverish dreams that make you feel less rested when you wake up than when you fell asleep. And I was tossing and turning (I mean, I think I was - I was asleep after all -
but I woke with the blankets all over the place) and I’m surprised I
stayed asleep at all.

There I was, watching that son of a bitch stand at the front of the church and talk about me as if he was the most caring angel on the planet. There were many things wrong with this picture. He is most
certainly not an angel. He’s a pain in the arse, that’s what he is. And who the hell decided it would be a good idea to hold my funeral in a church? And who let him speak? Was he really the best they could do.

And how am I watching my own funeral?

It was then I realised I was dreaming. If I was in the casket, I had to be floating, and I’m not a ghost kind of person. When you’re dead, you’re dead. So I was watching this funeral, knowing I was dreaming,
unable to wake up. But that was mostly because I didn’t entirely want
to wake up. I was having plenty of fun wondering what spiteful things
my mind would consider that son of a bitch capable of saying at my
funeral.

While he stood there and flattered me and said sickly things about how ‘we had our differences, but in the end we both cared for one another so completely’ I wondered how on earth my mind decided a church
would be a good idea. Maybe it was a cliche, maybe it was a dig at my
religious mother, maybe it was irrelevant, but I wanted to know. It’s
my mind - I have a right to know. Right?

Wrong. And here I was, arguing with myself while I was dreaming away (which is a bad idea, let me tell you) when the whole dream exploded. Everyone was accusing me of this and that, all sorts of things. I know
I’ve been a terrible person but they had me wondering what my mind
expects me to do in the future. Or maybe my subconscious was just being
spiteful after the argument. That would be just like my mind. My
inconsiderate and uncontrollable mind.

And there it goes again. Throwing all sorts of shit my way. It’s my dream, my mind, I should be able to do what I want. Should, but can’t. Too bad. That’s life. Damn life. Damn my life. And this isn’t even life anymore! This is a dream! This is a dream of my death.

That’s when it all got too much. That’s when I woke up.