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Tuesday, September 23, 2014

On My Deathbed

As I approach my 54th birthday the usual demons and evil birthday fairies begin to whisper sinister things in my ear.

What have you done with your life, Pinky?

Why have you wasted so much time?

What purpose has your life served?

Do you really think writing blog posts about talking plants are a productive use of your time?

Scotto and I have a deal where we give each other a budget of two hundred bucks to spend on our respective birthday presents.

“It’s two days until your birthday Pinks, so you’d better get cracking and tell me what you want!” he shouted from the shower this morning as I lay in my bed, sipping my coffee with eyes shut willing them to open just a tiny slit so I could find my mouth.

So I spent today trolling around the shopping centres until, overwhelmed with agoraphobia, I scuttled back to Golden Boy and hightailed it back to my insidious nest where I felt safe from all those prying eyes. Yeah... I'm weird like that about shopping centres.

I couldn't find a thing I wanted. The truth is… I don’t need or want anything.

When I’m on my deathbed I’m not going to be longing for trinkets and jewels. I have plenty of them… and what use are they anyway?

I’m not going to be worried about what I wore to a particular occasion back in 2014 so I’m not interested in shoes and clothes. They perform a perfunctory and superficial role in my life.

I’m not going to regret the fact I didn’t have that crystal lamp, Japanese dinner set, Thermomix (whatever the hell that is), or a facial from a disinterested beautician named Mystique who tells me in great detail about her boyfriend who’s just won a title in the local body building championships.

What I really want for my birthday is that my kids remember my day this year without me having to leave post it notes on the fridge.

I mean… they are all adults now so they should remember shouldn't they? Not like last year when not one remembered until I sent them a pissed off text message at ten o'clock in the evening.

And what I will really want on my death bed is for my five children to be there holding my hand. And Scotto of course. And more than anything, my poopies.

My poopie Pablo's paw.

That to me is what life’s really all about… just a thought.

Finishing off bottle of Gin and going to bed now :)

What matters to you in life? I'd love to hear...