The Disappointment of Death

I don't know about you, but for me the prospect of death fills me with...ennui. No dread, no fear. Boredom. Existential, I know. But check it: You die, right? No sooner have you stopped blinking in the stupid white light and made it past all those well-meaning relatives who have preceded you and whom you hoped never to see again, than you are faced with a myriad faces. Some guy or gal walks up to you and says, "So what you been doing since I died?" You reply, "Uh, not much...," and ask, "What you been doing while I been alive?" "Not much, either..." Nod-sequitur city. You look around. Over there is the Green Room, the VIP Lounge. You got no pass. There's Stalin and Hitler playing poker! You're dead, but there's nobody interesting to talk to and nothing to do. Then somebody starts talking to you about whatever killed them and won't shut up and you wish you were...dead.

As my friend Two-Headed Boy points out, the worst thing about death is that there is the possibility that the life you wanted to end will then be transfered over to Eternity. Yeah, Boy: Look what happened to Jesus!