I want to be a fossil when I grow up.
I want the percolating ground waters of the swallowing earth to drown me for 100 million years – swapping out my carbon for silica and turning me into a grinning agate flattened wafer-thin. Let my mind and my skin and my spit deteriorate leaving behind nothing but long bones and vertebra, ribs and a skull.
So when I die, tie a short rope around my neck. Tie the other end of the rope to a fat cinder block and throw me into the nearest swamp. Fill my pockets with stones and choose a bottomless bog on a the flood plain of a meandering river where lots of sediment is pouring from nearby rising mountains. Let the rocks decay and cover me with more and more and more mud and sand and clay.
And then some quiet morning in the infinitely distant future, I will spring from the bedrock fully-lithified and stare into the faces of my liberators like a lock picker eyeing a lock.
I will live forever.