After last week’s post I was at a loss for my next subject. My last three pieces I had known exactly what I wanted to write about. First, there was the Viking Opener. I clearly had to blog about that. Then I started the column on Jamey but the research was so depressing I took a break and wrote “The Jelly Donut Factor”. After that I went back and finished “For Jamey”. Now what?
I mean, I had ideas. I considered “Why America Feels Guilty Drinking”, “Friends We Haven’t Met Yet” and “I Want Fun News, Damn It”. Clearly, I needed something fluffy this week. Then as I was running this morning, it hit me. I would write about why I could never become a vampire.
Right, because nothing says “fluffy” like vampires.
Many of you, who know me anyway, (those of you newcomers welcome, sit, stay a while) know that I really adore vampire stories. Buffy rocks, True Blood has more hot guys than you can shake a stick at and if you’ve ever seen Frank Langella as Dracula, well, enough said. (The last one is a film from 1979. Some of you may need to Google it.) I dig fantasy in general so this enjoyment of the pointy-toothed ones is hardly earth shattering news. However, I have an announcement to make. I could never be a vampire.
Oh, I know, I often say I am night person and let’s face it; there are some neat perks. There is that whole never aging thing for starters. I don’t think vampires need to worry about weight gain either; they’re on a liquid diet. Honestly, there are days (well, in this case it would be nights) where I could do without seeing my reflection. I don’t think I would miss my shadow, especially by candlelight. I would never have to justify sleeping in ever again, sleeping the day away would simply be a given. Living forever would certainly help me get caught up on my to do list; maybe I’d finally have time to watch Game of Thrones.
On the flip side though, an awful lot of negatives go with joining the ranks of the undead. Imagine, one spends an eternity without garlic? Who does that? That alone is almost a deal breaker for me, but there’s more. The blood thing is just gross. No, really, it’s gross. Also, I cannot imagine that sleeping in a coffin is at all comfortable. (Maybe if they invented water bed coffins… no, not even then, the loss of garlic is still a big negative.) What if one of your fellow vamps really annoyed you? You’d have to deal with that pesky S.O.B. forever, ugh.
The biggest negative though occurred to me last night. On Sunday I was at dinner with a very old and dear friend of mine. She’s one of those friends that goes way, way back. It’s the kind of relationship that is a little bit like a marriage. She knows the very best and worst of me. She has seen me petty, kind, vicious, patient, self-absorbed, generous, cruel and loving. Somehow in the mix of all those contradictions she continues to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with me as we continue down this path called life. I’ve seen her disastrous moments and her incredible triumphs. I’ve made an informed decision to stick by her, too. If I was going to live forever, well, she’d have to, too. That got me thinking of all the other people I would want to have with me for as much of my journey as possible: my husband, my children and other dear friends. At this rate there wouldn’t be anyone left for the vampires to eat.
Immortals get to watch everyone and everything they ever loved wither away. Moreover, they get to watch the world they knew morph and change into something unrecognizable. I guess, they’ll even get to see the end of world. I’m not sure that’s a show I’d want to be at. Now, I understand that not everyone I love will be with me for my whole life. I’ve already lost a few who meant even more to me than garlic, and that’s really saying something. However, if I’m lucky, really lucky, then I’ll live a long time still surrounded by people I love, maybe even grandkids and great-grandkids.
What good is forever if you can’t have the people you love with you? I could never be a vampire.
Once, a while back Eric and I were discussing the merits of being vampires (I know, kind of random). After all my clever conjecture and creative theories he finished his beer, shrugged and said, “Well, that and they don’t exist.” Darn that man, such a pragmatist.