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  • As I have gotten older, I've lost my filter. You know, that thing that keeps our facial expressions under control and words from leaping out of our mouths. I am less able not only to harness my wicked thoughts but find it near impossible to keep them in the quiet apse of my consciousness. As a result, I am quite sure I will be riding Trailways down the road to Hell one day. Which is an interesting surety given I am not all that certain I even believe in such things as Heaven and Hell. I tend to think of them as the circumstances we create for ourselves here on Earth while still very much alive. I sincerely hope that when Death comes for me, I find it is just an eternal nothingness, forever sleep, dreamless like anesthesia.

    Death came for her last week. That woman. That irritant hanging from the fringes of my existence for more than thirty years. Bringing nothing except disruption and heartache. Thriving on bad theater. And I am not sorry. Not sorry for anything except the circumstances and bad feelings she leaves behind. Part of me wants to do the Hamster Dance in honor of her death and sing songs from the Wizard of Oz. Ding dong, the witch is dead.

    At her own request, there will be no service of any kind. A good thing I think. Did she know no one would come to mourn? And there it is, my ticket to Hell.
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