Let's get this straight right now:
I have no intention of going quietly.
Dignity be damned, I fully intend to raise one hell of a ruckus;
it's going to take more than one team of horses
to drag me off, and even then they'd better be Percherons.
And make no mistake about it: I'm not going alone.
What's worse than being hauled off
is everything else going on just the same
Well, screw that! When I'm gone,
you're going to know it,
and you're never going to forget it.
Because when I go, I'm taking out of the world with me
every last shred of wisteria --
root, vine, leaf, blossom, scent,
even any bees who happen to be mining nectar at the decisive moment.
There'll only be this great big blank wisteria-shaped hole
left behind in spring
We'll see who forgets who then.
So you better get your ass moving
and carpe your diem right now
if you want to enjoy it at least once more,
because I don't know just how long I've got left
and already this morning I'm feeling
a mite faint.