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How You Know You’re Dead, Part 5 March 26, 2008

Posted by Yvonne in Distinctions.
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Continuing from : part 1, 2, 3, and 4 … this download came in the middle of Valentine’s Day night – when I was sooo present to life, really. It filled 25 little pages in my notebook (I was travelling otherwise it woulda gone right into the blog) and this is about half the items. More to come …

  • When you look, you don’t see.
  • The scenery never changes.
  • The soft parts of you are really hard to find.
  • Your peripheral vision yields little new information.
  • Darkness is just fine with you.
  • Noone hears your voice, and you don’t really hear anyone else’s voice either.
  • Days of the week are indistinct.
  • You are neither warmer nor coller than you were yesterday.
  • The future is quitepredictable.
  • Singing is pretty much out of the question.
  • Children fail to inspire you.
  • The coffee just doesn’t do it for you anymore.
  • You can’t get it up.
  • You have the same hairdo year after year.
  • The color scheme at your place never changes.

  • Seldom does anyone just drop by for a visit.
  • You haven’t had a new idea or a new friend in years.
  • Horseback riding and astronomy no longer interest you.
  • You’re certain there’s a lot going on around you, but somehow the sounds of muffled activity are all you can make out.
  • You’re DNA has nothing to do so is sort of stuck in place.
  • You fail to mutate.
  • There’s no difference between your back and your front.
  • People can’t tell when you are happy.
  • Seldom does anything make you laugh.
  • Seasons pass in a blur.
  • Deadlines go by without notice.
  • Your mailbox accumulates only junk mail.
  • You haven’t sent or received a greeting card in a really long time.
  • The only invitations you get are from places you used to give money.
  • The last book you read is now out of print.
  • Nothing stirs your blood.
  • In the morning, when you’re creaky and stiff, you don’t bother to stretch it out.
  • Everything you’ve ever done or said is now permanent.
  • You never make mistakes.
  • You don’t buy those cool new shoes.
  • Nothing really bugs you.
  • You don’t go for walks.
  • Noone can get you excited about anything.
  • The neighbors have given up trying.
  • Invitations are few and far between.
  • You haven’t been to the newest restaraunt.
  • You can’t find those important remnants of childhood.
  • Everything important from your past isn’t of interest to anyone you know.
  • You don’t share secrets.
  • Not having insurance isn’t a problem.
  • Nothing wakes you in the middle of the night – not an idea, a lover, nor a full belly.
  • You don’t start, or continue – all you can do is stop.
  • You don’t drive fast nor visit new places.
  • You’re not much of a conversationalist.
  • People think you are listening, but really, you’re not even there.
  • You’re point of view very rarely changes.
  • Nothing hurts.
  • You aren’t amused.
  • Even students of strategy and expert entertainers can’t get to you.
  • You’re comfortable with others like yourself.
  • It makes no difference where you go.
  • Suddenly, nothing seems to matter much anymore.
  • You can’t say how long you’ve been this way.
  • You don’t drink enough water.
  • You rarely come out to play.
  • You haven’t seen a good movie or a live performance in a really long time.
  • Noone wants to share popcorn with you.
  • You don’t have anything new to say.
  • You have nothing special stowed under your bed.
  • All your stories have already been told.
  • People remember you only slightly, in a grey and faded sort of way.
  • The things that are important to you no longer exist.
  • The fabric of your life has been scattered for a long time, and you don’t do anything about it.
  • Others feel something is missing, but don’t know how to tell you.
  • Relationships with you are flat, no juice.
  • Your visitors can only either keep their voices low or get dramatic and hysterical.
  • The last time you tried to raise your head, it just didn’t seem worth the trouble.
  • You need a good manicure.
  • You have no pets.
  • You often fail to get your message across.
  • You can’t go there.
  • You don’t notice that it’s not working.
  • You steadfastly refuse.
  • You don’t budge.
  • You will stare contests, but it’s not all that satisfying.
  • You lack gumption.
  • You never initiate contact.
  • You can’t take credit.
  • Though you might sympathize, you rarely express it.
  • You hardly notice those close to you are also dead.
  • You are unable to repair any damage you have done.
  • You’ll never be on time.
  • There’s a lot of inertia about you.
  • Some people appreciate your steadiness.
  • You have no clue about what to do when others are dead.
  • You don’t understand people who are alive.
  • You can’t seem to find the manual.
  • You aren’t responsible for anything.
  • You wouldn’t try if you could.
  • You can’t go there.
  • You fail to recognize an opportunity to contribute.
  • You say things like: “You couldn’t possibly …”, “Never again.”, “Not on your life” and “Over my dead body!”
  • You feel comfortable letting life pass you by.
  • You never bake anymore.
  • You can’t say how long you’ve been this way.
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Comments»

1. Yvonne - March 26, 2008

> You have to be poked to get anything out of you!
> The “to do” item on your desk for 8am is still sitting there at 4:45pm.
> You have no power to turn off the internet.

2. How You Know You’re Dead « Conscious Connections - February 1, 2010

[…] later came: part 2, 3, 4 and 5 […]

3. How You Know You’re Dead, Part 4 « Conscious Connections - February 1, 2010

[…] And then again, here are more tell-tale signs … extending the list from: part 1, 2, and 3  (and more at part 5): […]

4. How You Know You’re Dead, Part 3 « Conscious Connections - February 1, 2010

[…] in Distinctions. trackback What is it about this conversation (see more at part 1, 2, 4 and 5)? Seems there’s still more to see about how un-alive life can be […]

5. Yvonne - January 12, 2014

> your blog is a cobweblog

(yikes)


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