I've been dead. Dull as dull can be, it was. So, I decided to not be dead. It is true that someday I'll have no choice but to be dead for eternity. Imagine being stuck in a box as a cadaver or as ashen wisps blowing about the ocean, eaten by fish, eaten by humans, pooped into the toilet, washed out to the ocean to restart the cycle. To avoid the dullness of dead, I think I'll kill myself before I die and have my body shot into outer space. Maybe a robot planet will find my capsule and chunk me out when they assimilate my space vehicle. Then I can be a Cadaver in Space, until the gravity of some planet pulls me down to the surface in a great plummeting fall, breaking all my brittle bones and turning my skin to powder so that I blow in wisps around some little planet in some uncharted part of space. Then, in death, I can be a final frontierswoman. I'm going to have a heck of a time after I'm dead, again, for the last time.