First, I would attire myself in clean clothes, if neccessary. No one wants to be found dirty upon their death. Unless, of course, you expire in a truly fantastic manner (preferably involving some form of futuristic technology that will leave the sci-fi geeks jealous of your ending) that just happens to leave you a bit messy. Just think of the stories!

What? An anti-epic death? Well, that’s far less interesting, but I suppose much easier to plan for. Where was I? Ah, yes. Clean underwear.

Now cleanly attired, I would face the last 53 minutes of my life. And then, I think, I would write.

Letters.

Yes, there are people I would want to see. But seeing everyone I would want to say goodbye to would be impossible in 53 or so minutes. Writing quickly, I might be able to at least address everyone I would like. Final words, things that may not have yet been told, what people mean to me. There would be as many references to inside jokes as possible.

Notes to my grandparents, my brother in law, relatives, Anna and Meghan, Tyler and Ty, Taylor, Josh, Megan and Lauren and Abigail, Hannah and Kathryn, my floor, my brother floor, D3, Sean and Daniel and Albi, Charis and Angela, Michael, Kelly, Ashley, Jacob and Fisher, Mister Paradise. There are, of course, more names. Yours, perhaps. As many notes as possible, of varying lengths as called for, but all much shorter than they could be, due to time. With full names and as much information as possible at the top, seeing as my poor roommate would have the delightful job of getting them places.

This would go one for 33 minutes, I believe? You may notice the absence of my parents’ names, and sister’s, and that lovely lady I live with. Truth be told, I don’t like them very much. Truth be fixed, seeing as it must have been broken a moment ago, I like to assume that my roommate would very conveniently be home if this happened. (Realistically, she would be either with Joshua, doing homework, or with Josh doing homework, but reality begone – this is MY egotistical exercise.)

My parents, I suppose I would call (conveniently, they as well would be together at the right time). My sister as well (and if it turns out she is with Jerry, I suppose I wasted whatever time I spent on his note. All thirty seconds of it.) I’m not sure how any of them would take that phone call, but it would be possibly very, very funny. For me. Maybe not for them.

That would be 19 minutes. Within all of this, between it all, would be conversing with my roommate trying to determine any loose ends I was leaving, or just making witty commentary on my looming permanent nap. She might need to know how many things I currently possess are actually borrowed, as well as anything I specifically want to go somewhere specific, being very, very specific about those things.

In my last minute, my one last minute, I would update my facebook.

To something along the lines of, “is now asking God if bad grammar could be punished more often. You might want to fix that status of yours, just in case. /life”