An awkward situation

If you don't hear from me via Blogger or Facebook or email periodically, I probably died.

No reason not to die. I wrote to Brigid a couple weeks ago and said that I don't have anything further to reach for or achieve, not after Partners, which is true. I settled a trust, made a will and a full disclosure in print if my daughter cares to re-examine who her father was. It would be nice to pay off my account at the general store, but frankly it won't be much of a crisis for anyone if I die a pauper. My brother Roger will frown that I owe him $60, but Chase and Wells Fargo can go climb a rope, for all I care. An executive at Gulf + Western once told me not to worry about debt, after which it was easier to move forward as a film director.

The world has had multiple opportunities to advance my creative career, fifty years worth of movies and books and essays. I got nada. I'd rather not talk about the bullshit they preferred. We each take a turn at the spinning wheel. What goes up must come down. Of all the music I loved, Blood Sweat & Tears moved me like no other. Sorry, Frank.

Ooo. Since I'm talking about death, here's my playlist for a memorial:

21st Century Schizoid Man, King Crimson
Talk To Me Darling, The Pretenders
In The Light, Led Zeppelin
Nights On Broadway, The Bee Gees
My Little Suzy, Styx
Spinning Wheel, Blood Sweat & Tears
Sofa #2, Zappa

It's on my mind because I fainted and fell down flat on my face in broad daylight, rearranged some ribs and bruised a number of muscle groups, had to use pain pills for 10 days, couldn't cough or sneeze without howling. Better now, but vulnerable, no longer strong enough to do serious labor. My brain still works, although 400,000 cigarettes and family history make me a good candidate for stroke or heart attack. Occasionally I wish to die. Impossible to kill myself, because it would hurt my daughter, which I cannot entertain, absolutely verboten. I have to die from natural causes. So I wait patiently. Doo bee doo bee doo.