I had a frank discussion with my roommate this evening about my death. While I don’t think it’s imminent, I did say that there was a very real possibility of me dying before I’m able to recover, especially if I don’t change my attitude about my anorexia. She didn’t disagree with me and was pretty honest about what she would need to get herself and the dog sorted, if I were to pass away.
Obviously, my kids are my highest priority, but I think I should be able to arrange something for her. I actually (stupidly) suggested that she take my Visa card, if I die, but she gently pointed out that that wouldn’t exactly be legal.
While I’m at it, I should probably have an advance directive drawn up, so that if something happens that leaves me in a ‘permanent vegetative state’, I won’t end up languishing at the hands of the medical establishment indefinitely.
Well, this is certainly a chipper blog entry. I know I talk about dying a lot, but addressing it in this manner has a very different feel. I guess it may be because it takes my concept of dying and makes it a lot more concrete.
Don’t worry though. I’m sure, by this time tomorrow, my blaseness about dying will be replaced by abject terror.