A list of sorts.

When I am older and greyer and no longer about my wits please remember that I asked these things of you.

I wish to be buried ankle deep in the front yard, standing there like a tree. Petrified and stiff the insects can burrow into my body and feast and the woodpeckers may dine of their plump juicy bodies and eventually my remains will be dissipated into the earth. This will be my way of returning to nature what she gave freely of to me.

If I am so feeble minded as to not know how to work the latest computer or television or other technological device that our children conceive of, just tell me know. As if I were four and wanting to cook my parents a steak. Just. Say. No. But if I can figure it out for myself, and I want to watch porn all afternoon naked on the front lawn, you damn well better let me.

Do not let me wear black socks and shorts. How does this even happen? I am guessing that when I am ninety five there will be a bunch of old guys in baggy shorts and crocs running around the neighborhood looking ridiculous.

There was something in particular I was going for in here, but I think I kind of freaked myself out a bit and lost it.