.. she said to me, ‘Do you want to live?’ Doesn’t say her name. Doesn’t say hello. Just said, in this weirdly calm voice, ‘Do you want to live?’ “And I said, ‘No.’ “She nodded and said, ‘Okay. Then there’s nothing else for us to talk about.’ “She stood up, walked to the door, opened it. It was strange, the effect. I panicked. I thought, They’ve given up on me. She’s going to walk out that door… I said, ‘What if I did?’ And she stopped at the door and looked at me. Didn’t say anything for a minute but just looked and then said, ‘Well, that would give us a lot more to talk about, wouldn’t it.’ I don’t know why, but I started laughing. I laughed until I was sobbing. I wanted to die. I really did. But I also wanted to live, by just the tiniest fraction more. I just didn’t know how. You remind me of that guy. This … person who refuses to step into his life, watching, commenting. Maybe we’re all obituary writers. And our job is to write the best story we can now.”

that sounds like something I would say/write

but

"plop" has been replaced by "thud" inside me. it's not her fault (!!) but my mother just about killed me, and now that she's outa here, I don't must stand up. hell, I don't even have to sit up