“Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I picture my funeral and write eulogies in my head. In the fantasy, I almost always die in some tragic but unavoidable way. A drunk driver mows me down. Or a brain aneurysm. I make sure I suffer little, but die with courage and dignity and clean underwear. I like to think more about the funeral rather than how I die. Who would come? Who would face their fears of public speaking and get their ass to the pulpit? Who would decide that they had better things to do than to show up at all? I wonder if people would cry, and if there is anyone in the world who would hold the tears back for fear of never stopping.”

— ~ Julie Buxbaum

This theory is so damn true. I always wanted to know how important am I to the people I know. Like, getting yourself into a fatal accident deliberately, and seeing how many people will come to see you. Like dying for the first time, and see who'd attend your funeral. Like when you're dead, and when you become a spirit or something, you'd want to know what people think of you. Maybe next time I should try this once. Who would come?