Truth be told, I don’t even have a porn stash. I know, I know, I’ve probably lost your attention already.
But that doesn’t make this situation any easier for me.
Sometimes when I’m doing something a bit dangerous, I think about the scariest thing that could happen to me: I could die. Oddly enough, it doesn’t fuel hesitation in me. It doesn’t make me wonder “Should I just back out now and just chalk that one up to a bad idea?” It doesn’t do any of that. What it does do though is make me think.
I wonder if I did die, or even if I became a vegetable, who would find the bits and pieces of my life that have been hidden for so long.
Who would find out that my underwear is almost always scattered all over our bedroom floor? Who would find out that I rarely clean behind the toilet so a massive amount of dust bunnies live there? Who would find the birth control? And lingerie? The journals, the unsent letters? My laptop with my pictures, my thoughts.. or this blog? Who would be the one, scrutinizing my life under their microscope, without me to even attempt to make up an excuse to cover up the obvious truth?
Some very lucky person, that’s who.
Some days, when I walk out of the house, I wonder if I should have burned half of what I owned in our fire-place prior to leaving to cover up the evidence that I *gasp* lived and did some weird shit. Stuff that family may not approve of and things I may not be proud of. But I did it with class and I’m happy.
On those days, or the random moments when death creeps up on me and reminds me someone’s going to be awfully embarrassed in my bedroom if I screw up bad enough, I cross my fingers and hope it’s my fiance. But if it’s not him? If someone gets the pleasure of sifting through my twenty-four years on Earth if I become a replica of roadkill?
I want to give them something good to find. Something that will blow their mind.
To ensure this happens, I need to step it up a notch. I need to make my life look like something out of a movie, even if it’s entirely made up. So I’ll write letters to my second family that doesn’t exist and never send them. I’ll find and own the raunchiest porn collection known to man. I’ll buy prescribed pills that I’ll never have to take. I’ll take pictures of random body parts of hundreds of people, just to scatter my walls with them. I’ll own every book and movie on serial killers and basket-weaving. And I’ll make sure to include a note in my will about how I only want my legs and arms cremated and then carried around in a fanny pack by every living family member.
Then, and only then, I won’t feel so bad about the dust bunnies living amongst my underwear.
– ♦ –
All month long I’m celebrating turning twenty-four with a month filled of true awesomeness. Make sure to check out the thirty-one days of self-indulgent posts that uncover the real person behind the blog and enter the twenty-four item giveaway that runs all month!