If I only had twenty four hours to live, I would probably cry for the first three. Then, I would sit down with my made-in-China, slightly oversized Sharpie and make a list of things I need to do. Almost certainly, I'd give up two minutes later. I always want to make lists but I can somehow never actually write them. The idea of jotting down things and the thought of ticking off my accomplishments with little tick marks gives me the shivers, but lists are like so many things I've always wanted to do, and have never quite gotten around to. With only twenty four hours (well, twenty one minus the three hour bout of tears) left to live my mental Post-it's will just have to do.
Anyway, I digress. So, if I had twenty four hours to live, I would simply spend it with the people I love. I don't think there's anything else in the world that I would rather do. Oh, and maybe I would call up an ex-boyfriend and tell them how I really didn't think his snoring was cute, and how it actually sounds like a disgruntled bear with a swollen larynx. And that his new girlfriend looks like a hyena with a bad nose job.
Once the malicious phone calls are out of the way, I'd focus on my favorite people and tell them exactly what I love about them. I wouldn't tell them that I'm dying because I would want the last hours with them to be filled with tears of the happy sort, the ones that are caused by extreme laughter followed by wheezing and tummy aches.
During my final hours I would want to be with my family, lying in the middle of my mom and my dad, with my lhasa apso and her cold wet nose, and breath that reeks of tooth decay and gum disease, cuddled next to me.