I really like cemeteries. I always have. My Dream Job is owning a big plot of land that could be used for natural burials. Actually, preferably for natural burials and other "alternative" burials, such as viking ceremonies (I'd need a lake or a river), funeral pyres, etc. I looked into becoming a funeral director, but you don't really make any money, and though I wouldn't mind dealing with dead people, I don't think I could deal with living people who are sad and then they're mad about all the money they owe me. Funerals are expensive because they're expensive, not because funeral directors are overcharging people and getting rich. Anyway. That would be the dream job. But as it is, I just like cemeteries. I remember I was on my way to school once in high school and I was almost there when a funeral procession went past me going in the opposite direction and I turned around and followed it. Missed the entire morning so I could watch them bury some guy I didn't know. I used to take naps in my favourite cemetery by my house growing up. I went through this phase were I wrote letters to this specific dead girl because I found her headstone and she was my age and her name was Catherine and she drowned. I saw a coyote once as I drove into a favourite cemetery with a boy who I would kiss every time he showed me his art. I was once having a conversation with Matt in the Toronto Necropolis about whether or not we still wanted to be married and a fox came up over the hill and came right toward us. Stopped about two feet away and sat there watching us. Cemeteries are always peaceful and quiet and beautiful. The cemeteries in Georgia and South Carolina were amazing. The most beautiful places I've ever been. The cemeteries in Boston are so old and full of history. The naval cemetery in San Francisco in the Presidio overlooks the bay and I sat there watching ships go by. Speaking of the Bay Area, the Chapel of the Chimes in Oakland was magical. And was the place where I first met someone who had meant a great deal to me for a long time. It was the perfect place for that to happen. When I die, I want to burn on a giant funeral pyre. When my skin and muscles have melted away, I want my bones to be buried by a lake, along with the ashes of all my dead cats, with a beautiful headstone that will grow moss, and a garden of poisonous plants surrounding me.
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