"Live each day as if it were your last," the final earthly advice my father ever gave me. It might not have been, had I succeeded in my attempts to dislodge the complimentary cookie from his trachea, but one can only do so much after consuming all of that MSG. I choose to blame the EMT, whose spring roll I ate when he left to go answer a call rendered my fingers too greasy to get a strong Heimlich grip.

I try not to think too much about that fateful night. It gives me a mean hankering for General Tso's chicken, and I'd hate to have agita while I'm taking the small piece of paper my father ultimately flailed in my general direction to heart. There's no time for dwelling in the past, especially not with my schedule. I tried fitting it in between pleasuring a mermaid and establishing a true democracy, but once I figured out those things didn't exist, I decided to use the ten-minute block I allotted them for explaining to people my Last Day Itinerary. You're bound to get some funny looks when you're living life to the fullest. Even more so if it entails there being no tomorrow—or any day after, for that matter.

Last Day Itinerary

5:45 AM: Wake up. Set video camera up on a tripod.
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