Well, I hope to someday retire either to Cherating, or go live overseas.
I want to let go of all responsibilities. I want to be surrounded by books. Maybe work at a library, taking the afternoon shift.
I want to be connected to the Internet and play MMORPG games every night. I'd be the old guy, playing games.
I will go and pick fights with racist motherfuckers on forums and chatrooms.
I want to write books, inspired by the greats - Gaiman, Moore, Morrisson, Ellis, Bendis.
I'll grow flowers and vegetables, take piano lessons.
Sometimes, I'd visit asshole friends. But most of the time, I will be alone reading, and drinking.
Then, one day, the villagers would come, in a mob, bearing torches and pitchforks.
They would come to my house - an old man's house - and they would set fire to it.
I will be inside, with a big bottle of morphine and a huge syringe. I give myself a lethal dose, before the smoke can get to me.
The next day, all that was left of me is a charred stain on the ground.
Three years later, they will build over that site and even the stain on the ground - half-hidden, half-forgotten from view - would be piled under cement and bricks.
A solar flare, 20 years later, would wipe out all technology from the face of the earth, taking with it my movies and whatever that's left of this blog.
The ensuing riots caused books I have written and whatever article that survived the past couple of decades, to be lost forever.
And that is how I will never be remembered.