Did you make it?

Dear Liz of the Future, Please tell me you made it. Please. -the Liz of Last Spring If this message is not deleted and is still sitting in the inbox, I guess I didn't make it. How do you write a eulogy for yourself? Was I worth remembering? I loved the weather in autumn. I loved Samoas (the girl scout cookie) and Vanilla Coke. I loved the shade of blue the clouds get before a storm, and the loud, unnatural electric blue you find on sports cars and the Windows XP start bar. I could write (sort of); I wanted to be a research scientist but failed miserably at it. The Fellowship of the Ring and the Chronicles of Narnia were my favorite books from childhood. Later I grew to like The Fountainhead and Dune. The original Star Wars trilogy were my favorite movies, although I would have been embarassed to admit it in public. Along the same vein, Stargate SG-1 was my favorite TV show until after season 8. I used to play on MUDs, geek that I was. Even a couple Dragonriders of Pern based ones! I was Taiith, based on Jack Sparrow from Pirates of the Carribean. I also played Runescape, back in its first couple years. And Neopets, Fantasy Writers Guild. I am fully shamed. The first world I ever made up was called Skull Rock, named by the pirates who lived there before they built the castle on the big island. I was three. I escaped there when I figured out that Mom had decided she was going to go ahead and let Dad hit us. There were many others: Fruitville, with Hannah Banana; the planet Ravage; Salfar Glen, which turned into an actual attempt at a novel which will never be read; Greenhood. Do these worlds die with me, or are they somehow out there somehow? It seems odd that they should just cease to exist, so odd that imagination can be so intertwined with my reality. My favorite class I took in high school was biology. In college...Honors Chem. I wanted to be able to discover something. But all I ever discovered were worlds I kept to myself. I loved to act, although I knew I wasn't good at it. It was condoned pretending. I was a psychiatrist that rehibilitated teenage werewolves and Nick Bottom in a Midsummer Night's dream my senior year. I liked marching band too. I hope I always managed to be as obnoxious and out-of-tune as my old piccolo always was. I once spilled pop on my laptop. I turned it off before it did any harm. Despite my reputation as a grammar guru, I spoke in my native Pittsburgh dialect up to the end-- I couldn't help it! I had my last Vanilla Coke on the way home last spring break. Amazing, since they stopped making it months before that. I hope some of the atoms in my body make their way into someone famous. Maybe a few will even get shot into outer space somehow with in the next few thousand years. I want to be remembered. But soon my account will be deleted, and this last bit of me will be forgotten. I won't have mattered. Maybe it's best that way.