This kind of feels like when you get a new journal and you're writing in it for the first time and you feel like it should be something really profound and interesting because the pages are just so blank and new and potential-filled. If you don't write something really interesting and earth-shattering, then you may be setting a trend for the rest of the journal...doomed to be filled with ordinary nothings. After all, you don't want your journal to get a bad impression of you. Could ruin the whole relationship. Your journal will start to expect the mundane and even tune you out when you sit down to write in its pressure-ridden pages. Damn you journal, and your blank stare of pressure. I hate blank canvases for the very same reason. There's nothing left to do but to jump.
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Yoikes. Scary.
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So, I just got health benefits for the first time at work. During my HR meeting about this, I was told I would need to choose a beneficiary for my life insurance.
???!!??!!!?????
While initially this was rather freaky, (Understatement), it also gave me this strange sense of power. Of course, if you are married, this question is a no-brainer. Same applies to those with children. And yes, most single people like myself would probably choose their parents or a sibling...but I still have not chosen a beneficiary simply because I like to keep revisiting this romantic dream of leaving the entire wealth of my life insurance to someone really shocking like my dentist, the barista who gives me free drinks sometimes, or even a perfect stranger. I like to imagine them opening a letter stating that I have, in fact, died and they have been chosen as the lucky winner to reap the benefits (literally). Would they be sad? Confused? Joyful? All of the above? More importantly, what would they choose to do with their "reward"? Spending it on something temporal would seem like an insult...but then again they didn't really know me so I can't (and won't be able to) blame them. I would hope that my romantic gesture would shake some kind of soul sleepiness out of them and cause them to demand of themselves a passing along of the romantic gesture torch.
Or maybe they'd say F*** it, I'm spending it on clothes, I never knew her. Who knows. And that, my friends, is part of the beautiful mystery of this plan. One can only hope that humanity itself has enough respect for a free gift to put a little more thought into the decision than the latter sentiment. Maybe I should hire someone to follow whoever the winner is after I die and do a full psychological analysis on the outcome. I would say I'd let you know who I decide upon but then the romantic mystery would be shattered. And who knows, the future winner might be reading this blog.
Well, there you go. The digital journal pages have been forever tainted with this [disturbing] first impression. I doubt I'll be invited to meet the parents.
