There I was in the shower, thinking about my Ultimate Fantasy. It's a very usual one. To my closest friends and lovers I send a letter, inviting them to a party, a celebration of life, marking the end of my battle with some likely terminal but otherwise symptomless disease, like early stage cancer; I always heard it's the chemo and radiation that gets you feeling bad. So they're invited to this party. I tell them all to dress up, dress up as themselves, in their most archetypal clothing and fashion styles. Do not be eccentric, do not be fancy, but be yourself. Come as you should be, as a charicature of who you are.
We all get on a big cuddle pile, an enourmous mattress, and I'm in the middle wearing pants a size up from what I usually wear, and I hope they do not notice. There's a concealed adult diaper for later. Before they arrive I've already taken the cocktail that will inebriate me into oblivion. They do not know for certain who the victor of the battle is but they're all smart enough to probably figure it out. The fantastical element is here, they pretend to not know for both of our sake. Time passes, and we listen to a playlist by me, written to guide them all past me. My breathing slows, my eyes unfocus and they all grip me tighter, they wrap their entire bodies around my limbs as if to shackle my soul to the ground. Everyone kisses me before it goes dark.
The one who is crying is me? What's happening? I'm taken out of the dream, and I feel my sniffles. I don't want this. I don't want to do this to them. I don't want to do it anymore. I want to make it. I want to be okay.