The day I died.

Not complete in any sense of the word. - Hence it being in the morgue. :)

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Stepping quietly thought the river was no easy task I learned many nights ago when I died. Trying as I might I could not figure out how others had accomplished the same goal. But there I was stepping steadily as I could and trying not to fall.
Oh wait, I had better start at the beginning, after all I did say that I died didn't I? Wouldn't want to continue from the middle otherwise this story might not make any sense...
It was a Saturday morning and was fast asleep in bed. I don't remember exactly what I was dreaming about but I can tell you that it didn't make much sense. Then again I don't recall a time when it did. I slowly started to wake up by the sound of the birds chirping outside. The sun shined gently through my window; I started to notice that it had been warming my back for quite some time so it must have been later in the morning. No matter the time I knew that my day was going to be just like any other day off. Work around the house, mowing the lawn, and of course all the other little things that I had been putting off for weeks now.
I groaned as I raised my spine and once again the old familiar crack shot out. My back hasn't been the same for many years now. I was once in a car accident; the details are of little use so let's suffice to say that I was hit by a drunk driver who for shits and giggles decided to jump onto oncoming traffic. The end result was six months of physical therapy. I refused the back surgery preferring a herd of elephants to trample me to death while watching dances with stars. Would have been the same end result with the addiction to all the drugs they would have prescribed afterwards. I think in the end that I made the right choice.
I barley climbed out bed when I remembered that my wife was still visiting her mother and I was still alone in the house. I had forgotten about that. But the smell coming from the clothes I had been wearing for two days now quickly reminded me. Had my wife Linda known she would be severely pissed off. I figured I had better at least jump in the shower before heading off to the adventure that awaited me with the lawn mower. I managed to muscle up enough energy to get my ass of the bed where I abruptly stubbed my big toe on the chair. "Fuckin' Son of a!" I hated that old chair, and I can't tell you how many times I've repeated my morning ritual of pain and cussing. Been trying to throw it out for years, but it was a family heirloom that Linda insisted on keeping. Keeping in our bedroom next to the bed to torment my feet was more like it. I sort of missed her laugh. Every time I would commit to hurting myself she would just laugh and tell me "Forget the chair again dear?" which of course I did. I was always hurting myself and I swear I could never just wound myself gently it was always some exaggerated incident. If I tripped and fell I would end up taking the lamp with me while getting tangled in the cord and banging my head on the wall. Yet for some reason I would always be surprised at the damage not only to myself but to my surroundings as well.