My Bucket List is Empty
I’ve never been superstitious, but I am when it comes to bucket lists. I find them macabre. Ever since the movie Bucket List with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman, people have been making bucket lists. If you haven’t seen the movie, it goes like this: Two old codgers find out they are terminally ill. They make a bucket list of things they want to do before they die.
Why I don’t want a bucket list
What are you supposed to do after you finish your bucket list? It seems to me the only thing left to do is die. What else is there to live for? There are two reasons I don’t want a bucket list:
- I’m not ready to die
- I don’t know what to put in the bucket
I guess I’m pretty boring by human standards. I’ve never had a great desire to travel. I’m an introvert through and through. My idea of a vacation is to get a stack of nonfiction books, sit under a shade tree with my dog, and have a reading marathon.
I like to spend my time thinking deep thoughts. Things like, why did I bring three children into this crapped out world. Or, if you have a premonition about something and it happens, does that mean everything is written in stone. I wonder if life is like the movie Ground Hog Day. Once we die, we immediately come back and live the same life over.
Everyone I know with a bucket list has traveling on it. Traveling doesn’t excite me. I don’t like being packed like a sardine in a flying capsule for hours on end. The way I figure it, if I want to see the Taj Mahal, I can find a picture of it in one of those coffee table books.
I’m going to try an experiment.
I’ll make a pretend bucket list. Let me see if I can come up with 10 things to put on it. Hmmm.
- Solve Rubik’s Cube
- Get a great dane
- Avoid dying until the government admits that LBJ had Kennedy killed
- Get a tattoo on my ass that says kiss my ass
- Call my ex-husband and apologize for the part I played in our failed 26-year marriage. Tell him I still think he was an abusive jackass.
- Ask a man that’s 30 years younger than me out for a date and jump his bones. Hey, men do it all the time. Why not?
- Dye my hair green
- Get a ring in my nose
- Pay my three children a visit with my green hair and ring in my nose.
- Moon my children with kiss my ass
As I said before, the only thing left to do is to die. If I did all of this, my children would have me admitted to a memory care facility, thinking I had dementia.
However, I am going to stick around until the government admits that LBJ had President Kennedy killed.