As is the season, there was smatterings of talk of resolutions during New Year's Eve festivities. I didn't really come up with much for myself except to steal Kelly's idea to be better with birthdays throughout 2012. Perfectly good resolution I thought - manageable, measurable and meaningful. Thinking of this in my head-throbbing daze, contemplating my mortality which, it seemed this New Year's Day morning, was pretty fragile under the circumstances, I could do something even better for those around me: get my affairs in order.

I realised that it would be really awkward for my friends and family if I died with the way things are at the moment.

This revelation came slow and low as I lay in my bed, eyes closed concentrating hard to convince my body not to throw-up my celebrations from the night before. Yes, the night before was fantastic, sponsored almost entirely by Captain Canon's Drink of Awesomeness. And while at times since waking up I felt like dying might be a better option than the after effects of my over-indulgence, I was not actually ready to shuck my mortal coil just yet. I was suffering one of the most spectacular handovers I've had in a long, long while - one that might prompt someone to vow never to drink again if those Capt. Canons weren't just so darn delicious! and I realised what a disorganised mess my life was.

Lying there I imagined what I'd be like for my friends to find me dead.

State of Affairs

First of all I wondered how long it would take them to realise I'd been in my room longer than normal, I mean, I spend a lot of time in there. Once they figured out that I had been missing for days, and they found my putrifying body rotting in my summer-hot bedroom, I'd be hard to move. I'm not small, nor am I light, so it would take more than one of them to get me out of the house and onto the compost heap, or wherever it is they decide to dump me.

After that, someone'd have to go through and box up all my stuff - even if it's just to take it to the tip. They'd need to find my important documents (in case I'd left them anything in my Will), pack up all my books (total fire bans through Summer means they couldn't burn them until later in the year), find my important passwords, close up my online life and deal with my dirty-laundry hamper. They'd need to box up all my junk, basically, so they could turn my room into a gym, or sewing room or some other useful space.

Right now, with my current state of affairs, that would be a really shitty job for anyone - let alone for people who actually like me.