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Pearls of wisdom, inappropriate thoughts and the occasional rant. |
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Since it's been five years or so, I'm updating my will and gathering up important information my family may need in case I make an unexpected trip to the great library in the sky. I've left instructions to get into this account to notify someone and to make a couple of items public. Out of all the things on my list, this bothers me the most. I guess because it's more personal than a bunch of numbers on paper. I told my youngest daughter, Ravyn, that if I haven't published my damn poetry by the time I've checked out to do it for me. But not the ones that are really shitty. Those she can polish up for me first. This child says to me, "Uh, do I have to? I don't even understand half of them." To which I replied, "Nope. You don't have to do it. I just thought you may want to since I would like to have something for future generations. But hey, I'll be dead and the chances of me haunting you until it's complete are probably slim." Silence. She went back to doing her school work and I slyly changed all the smart bulbs in the house (except where I sitting) to blue. Before I could say anything, she came back. "Okay, whatever you want. I think your ghost is mad at me and I know damn well you won't stop messing with me until it's done. Just leave the name of someone that can help me so I don't end up with a pissed ghost mom for eternity." |