The other day, somehow, I got to thinking about my funeral.
The funeral that my sister would inevitably have to put together should I decide that I can no longer tolerate this world.
I didn’t have an idea of whether it was an open or closed casket, basically whether or not I died of an overdose or I splattered my innards on the floor.
But I could see so clearly, my other sister and my relatives talking about how I was always a moody child, and how I was overly sensitive.
It almost made me want to laugh.