Do you every worry about what will happen to all your crap when you die? All the embarrassing diaries and love letters and chocolate wrappers and half-written stories and ill-considered underwear. And the digital mess of emails and photos and blogs.
If your end comes swift and suddenly you won’t have a chance to clean things up and destroy evidence. If you carry on to old age at what point do you decide, I better start tying up loose ends? You’d have to time it right to make sure you could enjoy your treasures and secrets for the maximum time possible but still have sufficient faculties left to do what needed to be done.
It’s the thought of those left behind having to sort through all your stuff. It could be my husband or my sister or a child or the budgie or the indifferent social worker but it makes me nervous to think of them digging around and cringing at stupid things scribbled years ago or finding something I forgot to burn and thinking Crikey, what a dickhead, we never knew her at all.