Someday When I'm In The Graveyard

Filling out the census form yesterday reminded me that I am alive. Because they wanted to know about Person Number 1 and Person Number 2 and how old we are. But if we were dead, you're excluded. So I immediately felt my pulse and knew the government cares about me because I'm alive.

I keep thinking about the results of the census being held confidential by the government for 72 years. So by the time 72 passes and all is revealed and I'm able to see what my name was again, I'll be in the graveyard. Just there, a forgotten box of ashes, suffering through winter cold and summer heat, although obviously suffering might be the wrong word for it.

If my family does what I want, they'll be able to harvest any body parts that still work properly. Then whatever leftovers there are, those they'll try by fire. Then when the fire has reduced them to ash -- no more legs, no more arms, no more privates, no more belly, etc. -- I'll fit in one of those tiny little boxes and that'll be it. I was small when I was born, so it's only fitting that I'll fit in a small box someday.

It'd be nice to know more about it. Do they cremate you nude or fully dressed? Maybe cremation has its own Wikipedia page. I'll look. ... Here it is, with me quoting just part of it.

The box containing the body is placed in the retort and incinerated at a temperature of 760° to 1150°C (1400° to 2100°F). During the cremation process, a large part of the body (especially the organs) and other soft tissue are vaporized and oxidized because of the heat, and the gases are discharged through the exhaust system. The process usually takes 90 minutes to two hours, with longer times associated with larger bodies, and older furnaces.

90 minutes to two hours, with longer times associated with larger bodies, and older furnaces ... I'm not that big a guy, and I hope I don't get an older furnace. I've had old cars, old houses, old hand-me-down clothes all my life. Give me one thing that's new. That's all I want, a new furnace.

I ought to start a blog about my death. That'd be a cool niche blog, just a guy ruminating about his death, perhaps 20-40 years in advance. Then they make a big printout of it and it's there at my funeral, looking like a big Congressional bill. The preacher says it's 1,300 pages of dense print, and we're not leaving till we read every word, or something.

Anyway, someday when I'm in the graveyard -- the silent city -- the government won't care about me. Only my family, till they all keel over, one after the other. Then, after all the heirs are totally gone, it'll just be me and the worms.