C is for dead...

Sometimes I think it would be nice to be dead. Not in the “Let’s call the men in the white suits to take her away” kind of dead – I am not suicidal. Well, I was – for a time, but that’s a whole another blog post. And I don’t mean the “I wish I were dead so I could be in heaven and hang out with Jesus” kind of dead either – although that is going to be pretty awesome and I am truly excited about that.

No, I just want to be dead in the calm, cool, composed kind of way. Where I can lie there, and no one will ask me to do something. No one will ask me to clean the kitchen, drive them to the movies, or fix them dinner. I can just lay there and not only will they not ask me to do things for them; they won’t expect me to do anything for them either. They won’t expect me to do a thing, because, well, I’m dead. No expectations. No responsibilities. No cares. No burdens. Just calm – just a cool, sparkling, quiet calmness.

I would have no phone calls to return, no chores to do, no letters to write, no bills to pay – just a calm, serene, and peaceful solitude. I would have no reports to write or projects due. I would not have a boss making demands of my time or a work schedule that pulls me away from the ones I love. No, I would only have calm. I would only have quiet. I would have tranquility.

And people would have to say nice things about me too. Because, after all, one should never speak ill of the dead, right?

So, when I think of the letter C, I think of calmness cascading over me, washing away all of my cares, my chores, and my catastrophes. I imagine I am lying somewhere, with no responsibilities, and no interruptions, and people all around are saying such beautiful things about me. The thought of it sounds so pleasing, so relaxing, so restful – like a refreshing oasis in the middle of a desert, or the serene stillness right after a disastrous storm.

Now I realize, "C is for Dead," doesn’t truly work. And that it is, well a morbid idea, but nothing else seemed to fit. For a while, I toyed with "C is for Cat" - because cats are independent. They lay around in the sun and no one asks them to fix dinner or do their laundry or work overtime. But they also eat bugs and mice and lizards and they clean themselves with their tongues so I decided that wasn’t a viable option. And then I tried "Coma." I thought it could work except if I were in a coma I would be in a hospital and I would have tubes sticking out of me everywhere and nurses coming in and out of my room. And although people would not expect me to do anything but lie there; they would all want me to at least try to do something. So the thought of people hovering around me watching me for the slightest movement or response tossed that analogy right out. And besides, when you’re in the hospital, you only get that gown with a hole in the back to wear but when you’re dead, they put you in a nice outfit and someone does your hair and makeup.

Now, please, I do realize that this fantasy of mine – is only good as a fantasy. I truly do not wish to be dead. I really just want to feel calm, cool and composed, resting- undisturbed – for a while, for a minute. Just long enough so that the yearning to get up and face the world, with its cold realities and cruel demands on my time, can return. I only want to be ‘dead’ long enough so that the desire to clean the spills and wash the dishes and drive my kids to the movies returns – because doing those tasks are some of the ways that I care for those I love. And even in the time it has taken to write this blog – I feel ready to conquer my world again. Because the truth is – I only really needed a little time out.