Mastering the Art of the Irish Exit

Christ on a stick, muthahfuckahs, I’m trying to get back on-line and write on this blog thing but I’m hindered with technology. Please send thoughts and prayers my way so I can prolly upgrade this greasy sneeze and fecal matter speckled lap pad at some point so I can watch my shows. My lil portal into the interwebs will soon be outdated, I’ve been warned by the godz, not able to get Netflix on my crickety old Model T Ford of a browser AS OF MAY 15, hey hey bitches that’s 4 days after by birthday, let’s get a fundo mcstarter thing happening… just jokes, my hoes, I’m slightly concerned  but whatever! I’ll figure it out, fucking Apple, what scam. It’s a sign. Of what I don’t know. (I do know, I have a fantasies of living a simple life in a tiny house, but ironically I need the internet  with a kickass computer to validate #tinyhouse #lifestyle #FML) HASHTAGGAH!  (that’s how we pray these days, crossing our fingers and eyes at the same time)

Anyway, just saying hi after a long reprieve from here. My place of joy. Where typos can’t be Marie Kondo-ized. What an awesome cunt, right? Cheers, ho! What does not bring you joy, just toss! I do love that bitch’s philosophy bt-dubs but I do need things hanging around my house like that portable Dyson that gives me anxiety but picks up  dog floof by the door jams and I have to end up picking it out of the canister with my bare hands cuz it’s an actual piece of shit that I spent too much money on. HOWEVER, it does the job. Dyson and Apple are way over-rated. But I need both these dicks.

Breath, because I don’t think I can give up Apple.

Aaagh. My dad died in November. It was his time but he slipped away one day like an IRISH EXIT. It was so him. No one was in the hospital room with him that particular Tuesday afternoon even though they might have been but! I love that so much. He took his own time.

He’s not Irish but Icelandic so close enough by boat (ginger beards, wily white men types that like to drink and and climb trees). By the way, I adopt the credo of the Irish Exit as an Urban Lady who goes to those type of pyramid parties where another Urban Lady is trying to sell shit like candles and housewares, just go in, say hey, oh, Heather, I love your addition, amazing gas fireplace, eat bitch’s cheese platter and drink what you can of her boxed wine that she put in the decanter that she’s trying to sell you, great for Christmas gifts, and high tail out of there.

As for your death bed though, you prolly don’t have a choice. Doctor on duty gave some comfort to my mom and said some people to choose to go on purpose when no one is around. I believe that in my heart that is what he did and there is beauty to simply slink out of the room. Or the earth. Wispy, woosh, gone is your soul, whatever is that energy. No one is hanging on to your hand and weeping. Instead they find you there, just that gentle napping body, prolly snoring, and doing that wake up thing when you hear the snort but instead of coming conscious, you slip away. It’s pretty perfect. I think.

My dad. I loved him so much. And I am left with the grief which is cool.I can really relish in the memories I have about him. I’m good with that. He was 95 so godspeed. Aaaand so I ask….what is godspeed anyway?????

But! I as an earthly human am left with much freakoutedness. What is death? I know I am super old to be thinking these things and it with an immature mind that I ask the question, but where do we go? I had a routine doctor’s appointment for a follow-up something ominous which I will overshare at some other point and I asked her, mid-clamp, WHAT HAPPENS WHEN WE DIE? She was also rattled and had a terrible time finding my cervix which seemed to have her head in the sand as well.

NO ONE KNOWS, that’s what she said.

I’m posting this in the ether because I want more comfort and maybe clarity of what spirituality for someone like me who doesn’t follow a religion per se, even though I opened up this post with “Christ on a stick, muthahfuckas” which I think Modern Jesus would be all cool with using his name for the sake of a hashtag, I listened to a podcast about it, so there’s that. If there was a second coming of Jesus he would be on Instagram right now.

Ugh, it’s trippy. Living is very boring over a certain age (I’m getting there) and death is scary (I’m not at peace yet).

Let’s fuck things up. I want to do mushrooms. Hit me up.



One response »

  1. Out of the blue your post popped up / I must have subscribed once.
    I know why- I just love the ride your mind takes me on. So lucky to have your dad so long. Really want to give you a wrap around hug right now…

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