Okay, call me morbid, but I love graveyards. I don't think they're scary at all, infact, they're really nice. All peaceful and quiet, and you feel like the people under the soil are resting in pace and some of the headstones are really pretty. The only thing I don't like is when I see a gravestone for a little kid. I know they're probably at peace just as much as everyone else, but still, I feel like they should have at least gotten a chance to live. I believe in reincarnation, so technically I guess they did get a chance, later on or earlier or both, but it still makes me sad.
Right now I'm living in this subdivision and right across the street from the front road there's a Methodist church. I walk past it all the time and wait for my bus right across the street from it, but somehow I never noticed that there was a cemetary there until I'd lived here for six or seven months. One day I was riding home on my bus, and I looked out the window while we passed the church, and saw a bunch of gravestones behind this row of hedges. So of course I had to check it out and it's really nice. It's small and shaded by trees and always very silent.
A couple of weeks ago, Nick (my brother) and I were walking around and I told him about the cemetary and so he wanted to see it. We went there and walked around looking at gravestones and talking and stuff. It would have been just a normal visit to a graveyard except I started thinking about all this really wierd stuff.
I started, like, imagining my funeral. I had this beautiful coffin and I was young and pretty and lying peacefully in my casket in this beautiful white dress surrounded by red roses and my gorgeous young husband (I was a little older in this fantasy, like in my twenties) was standing nearby pale and sort of trembling and inconsolable and looking like he might faint or cry or succumb to violence at any moment. And then I started imagining my headstone, with roses and a pentacle engraved on it and a picture of me (in black & white) in one of those little locket things like on tombstones from the 1920's, and an inscription like "Sara Annette Ryan, Beloved Wife of So-And-So".
Okay, now this is really sick of me, I know. And what makes it wierd is, I don't want to die. Ever, if possible. I'm not suicidal or even depressed. In my little fantasy I couldn't have been more than 28 but I don't want to die young. I want to die when I'm too old to be scared of what's going to happen next, not to mention when I can just drift off in my sleep one night- dying young implies either disease or an accident, both of which I'm terrified of. So what is up with this? Am I really twisted? On my way to being a big Bauhaus fan? Or have I just read Wuthering Heights one time too many?
Well, in any case, I think I'll give graveyards a rest for awhile. I'd hate to depress myself, and the whole time I was imagining my funeral I felt like I was probably jinxing myself. Dammit! Probably I will die at 28 now, just because of that stupid daydream! Why can't I have normal fantasies about being swept off my feet by tall dark strangers and stuff?
I really bug myself sometimes.