On the Topic of the Coronavirus and What I Should Do If I Die

Alright, look. I think we all have noticed by now how dour and heartbroken the last several blogs have been. Poems come fast and heavy and are frequently the side effects of what happens to the heart, that’s just a matter of common sense, and there has been quite the stream of them over the months. Do I apologize for this? Absolutely not. Writing is cathartic and helps me make sense of the feelings I’ve been trying to dodge as if I’m playing a spectacularly awful version of Pac-Man where the ghosts chasing me are just the smiles of someone who isn’t into me. Sounds terrible, doesn’t it? Well it is. Imagine, a bunch of disembodied smiles chasing you around.

Horrifying nightmare fuel.

So anyway, I thought I’d brighten things up by talking about my inevitable death. Let me tell you, if you don’t like me then this is your lucky day.

Unless you’ve been buried under a rock (what a horrible place to be), you’ve heard about the coronavirus. Sounds brutal, doesn’t it? Well, while I’m a relatively healthy person it can’t be stated loudly enough how certain I’ve been that I’m going to die in an incredibly stupid way. When I was younger, I had an unhealthy fear of drowning in a bowl of breakfast cereal. Sounds silly doesn’t it? Well… is it? Or did I develop my lactose intolerance as a defense mechanism against a certain fate that had been spelled out in Fruit Loops? These are important questions we all need to ask ourselves. I think it’s safe to say that science isn’t up to the task just yet, so I’m lowering the heavy burden down onto my shoulders (they’re very broad) and solving this riddle for myself (I’m high school educated, so rest assured- I’m a genius).

As many of you know, I have a trip to Iceland scheduled for the end of April. This time frame is not an accident as I’m running away from the sad things in life and somewhat tragically, I’m not very fast. In order to account for this shortcoming, I’m taking a plane and flying away because I don’t have the type of money necessary to lift my apartment complex off the ground in epic UP fashion. I’ve been told that distance cures things and while I’m hopeful that’s the case, I’m very well aware that in my effort to run away from matters of the heart I might nuke myself with an epic virus that’s tearing through Europe like Attila the Hun. That wouldn’t be ideal, but there’s something poetic in the subtext. Check the index and appendices of my biography “Luke Ganje: Average Face, Average Mind”. I’m sure it’ll be written shortly after my death.

Spoiler Alert: Not much happens between years 13 and 28, so I’d recommend skipping those eleven pages.

I always thought I wanted to be cremated, but thanks in large part to some latter episodes of Doctor Who and that damn ‘Dracula’ Netflix series, I’m a bit more up in the air on it. Do I want to run the risk of feeling like I have a dreadful sunburn for all of eternity? Do I want to look like a melting wax candle (ala Ted Cruz) while prancing around a distant eternal world, flirting with fellow dead people? That’s a lot on the line right there. Then again, maybe nothing at all happens when I die, in which case I’d rather be a dusty dead person floating in the breeze than a stiff skeleton trapped in a box. This is difficult stuff, but don’t worry. I’ve never been afraid to ask the tough questions.

Am I single because I’m bald? Would I have been a more confident man if I’d had a discernible jawline and pectorals as an undeniably floppy teen? Am I actually funny or is there a reason I’m the only one who laughs at my jokes?

It’s terrifying stuff, guys.

But I digress because while time isn’t of the essence, I get distracted easily so it would be best if this didn’t go on forever.

Just so we’re clear, I don’t want to die but it is frustratingly unavoidable. And while I’m so far succeeding at my goal of being the first man to live forever, I’m getting my affairs in order just in case. You can never be too sure and I’ve fallen down more than my fair share of flights of stairs (poetry) to ever be stupid enough to think I’m indestructible. Just the other day I accidentally shot myself in the face with my Water-Pik, so trust me when I say the Grim Reaper is coming for me. It’s quite obvious at this point that the guy is simply toying with me, but two can play at that game. Plan B is to settle into a cozy bubble-wrap life where the most daring thing I do is wear a plaid shirt to a western bar or skip wearing deodorant for a day, just to see if anyone will notice. Because see, the simple fact of the matter is that I can live far longer if I don’t go anywhere or do anything.

Will I do that? Probably not. If Iceland gets canceled by a shitty beer virus, I’ll just go somewhere else. I’ll celebrate the worst time of my life sitting on top of a mountain in South Dakota or looking out at the Grand Canyon. Maybe I’ll drive down to Kansas and watch the Sandhill Crane migration. There are always side quests in this shitty game of life, so there’ll be options out there even if I don’t get the chance to meander around a strange country and look at volcanoes. But if push comes to shove, if that plane is sitting on the tarmac when the end of April rolls around, I’m climbing on board because life is short and Death is a problematic fellow who likes popping bubble wrap.

It’s all coming down the backstretch. It’s all going to fade away. I might as well burn the candle at both ends until the wick becomes nothing at all.

So for now I’ll leave you with this, a Top 10 LIst of “Things to Do Should I Perish”:

1- Cry a lot and tell everyone how handsome I was. You’ll feel terrible if you don’t.

2- Make sure people read my stuff. Preferably my funny stories because they’ll make you cringe and wonder if I’m really worth missing.

3- Talk to a rabbi and a physicist before cremating me, just in case. Don’t take risks until you cover the burnt body bases.

4- Watch Paddington 2. It’s delightful.

5- Go watch a Sandhill Crane migration for me. It’s one of the world’s greatest wonders and I’ll be there as a ghost at least once a year. So be sure to say hello.

6- Contact Alicia Vikander and tell her that I’m sorry I was never able to take her on a date.

7- Invest in Rogaine. I didn’t listen to them until it was too late.

8- Go on epic adventures and never accept the ordinary when the extraordinary will do just fine.

9- Tell the people you love that you love them. Life is short and, like me, you’ll soon be dead.

10- Eat a little less meat. Pigs are chubby friend-monsters.

10b- If my death finds you all amidst an apocalyptic hellscape, eat me just so you can feel really bad about it. If I learned anything from being Catholic once upon a time, it’s that guilt can trick you into believing you’ve got it made. It’s very handy.

Alright, I’m glad we got that covered. I hope this cheered you up far more than my sad poetry about sad things and broken hearts.

Stay safe and for god’s sake, wash your hands.

Sincerely,

Still Alive Luke