It was a Tuesday the morning I woke up dead.
That reminds me of little Susie Anderson in the 6th grade. I was telling her that my pet gerbil had died in his sleep the night before.
"He just woke up dead," I informed her sadly.
"You can't wake up dead, stupid," she'd said, rolling her large brown eyes at me. "If you're dead, you don't wake up."
Looking back, I should've taken much less stock in Susie Anderson's views on life and death. She obviously wasn't well-versed in its finer points for the fact remains that on March 18, 1999, I, just like my beloved gerbil, Herbie, before me, woke up deader than a doornail.
The problem with waking up dead is that you don't realize that you are. At least, that was my problem.
On the morning of March 18, I arose and went about my daily business. Or at least I thought I did. There were a few things that were strange, things that might've tipped me off had I not been in such great denial of my fate. My husband wouldn't respond when I spoke to him, but we'd fought badly the night before so that wasn't all that odd. I was sad to realize that my 8 year-old son, Tyler, was ignoring me as well, but he could be pretty moody sometimes. The only one that seemed to acknowledge me was Pooper, our 12 year-old bulldog that barked and wagged his tail anytime he saw me and began following me around the house. Had I really thought about it, I would have found this a bit odd as well, considering the fact that the most activity Pooper had engaged in prior was fumigating the house with noxious dog farts.
You'd think after days of being ignored by my family members that something would've clicked. Yet there is nothing quite like the obstinate tenacity of the dead-who-don't-want-to-be. And I've always been extremely stubborn to boot - then and now. I could not accept that I was dead and had pushed the truth so far into the back of my mind that I actually had no clue that I even was.
It was only a month after my death-that-I-was-unaware-of that Cherise moved in. And that's when things got interesting.
And that is, also, where my story begins...
That reminds me of little Susie Anderson in the 6th grade. I was telling her that my pet gerbil had died in his sleep the night before.
"He just woke up dead," I informed her sadly.
"You can't wake up dead, stupid," she'd said, rolling her large brown eyes at me. "If you're dead, you don't wake up."
Looking back, I should've taken much less stock in Susie Anderson's views on life and death. She obviously wasn't well-versed in its finer points for the fact remains that on March 18, 1999, I, just like my beloved gerbil, Herbie, before me, woke up deader than a doornail.
The problem with waking up dead is that you don't realize that you are. At least, that was my problem.
On the morning of March 18, I arose and went about my daily business. Or at least I thought I did. There were a few things that were strange, things that might've tipped me off had I not been in such great denial of my fate. My husband wouldn't respond when I spoke to him, but we'd fought badly the night before so that wasn't all that odd. I was sad to realize that my 8 year-old son, Tyler, was ignoring me as well, but he could be pretty moody sometimes. The only one that seemed to acknowledge me was Pooper, our 12 year-old bulldog that barked and wagged his tail anytime he saw me and began following me around the house. Had I really thought about it, I would have found this a bit odd as well, considering the fact that the most activity Pooper had engaged in prior was fumigating the house with noxious dog farts.
You'd think after days of being ignored by my family members that something would've clicked. Yet there is nothing quite like the obstinate tenacity of the dead-who-don't-want-to-be. And I've always been extremely stubborn to boot - then and now. I could not accept that I was dead and had pushed the truth so far into the back of my mind that I actually had no clue that I even was.
It was only a month after my death-that-I-was-unaware-of that Cherise moved in. And that's when things got interesting.
And that is, also, where my story begins...
posted by S. Riley at 10:54 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home