I hadn’t wanted to fall asleep. Sleeping during your Sitting means you might die in slumberland, so holy crap, don’t do it! But it turns out deathdates are kinda exhausting. One moment, you’re pissed at your girlfriend and your dad; the next, your eyelids are sandbags. I’d draped a throw blanket over most of myself—so my parents wouldn’t see the small bit of ominous splotch that had made its first public appearance—and reluctantly fallen into a strange cycle of groggy wakefulness and short bursts of sleep. I awoke at one point, still unsettled by the surprise appearance of Brian Blum at my funeral. Couldn’t he have reached out first by phone? Or email? It occurred to me that maybe he had reached out via email. As my deathdate got nearer, I had cut myself off from everything Internet and put up a vacation responder (Hey, hey, everybody! I’m done with email! Yes! It may have something to do with my upcoming deathdate. Or maybe I’m just one of those cool people who disassociate themselves from all technology to make some statement about society.
What do You think about Denton Little's Deathdate (2015)?
