Arranging my funeral

Date: 1/5/2025

A morbid dream where I had the idea to arrange my funeral. I went to a local funeral home. It was bustling and as busy as a mall at an airport. All the walls and ceilings were white. Maybe even the floors. People didn’t seem to be very sad or upset, but I still sensed I needed to be respectful. I put my phone on vibrate, but at that moment, an alarm rang. I was self-conscious and turned it off immediately. Nobody else seemed to notice or care. Whew. I walked up to the information desk and asked where can I go to arrange for my own funeral. I was shown a piece of paper and said the area was called the DUMP. I thought that was funny, yet disrespectful at the same time. I continued walking around, fascinated by the inner workings of this funeral home. Nobody else seemed to be lost or concerned. I was confused, because I was seeing signs overhead for a section called DUMB, not DUMP. I went back to the information desk and asked a different person. They confirmed: DUMP. I went back to where I thought it was, but all I saw were signs for DUMB. And the typeface was quite small, compared to other sections that people where walking into and out of. I saw it before, around here, but where did it go? I asked another guy, but he was so desperate to talk to someone. Maybe he was a lonely salesman. He showed me a glass eye that was brown. He said the funeral home carefully removes the dead person’s eyes and replaced them with these glass eyes. He was convinced with how real they look, though it was very clear they were not real eyeballs. I simply agreed with him and said I’ll be back when the time comes, but I didn’t mean it. I went back to the intersection where I was before double checking the name of the area I was to visit. Ah, I see. I made a left when I should have gone through the door and continued straight down the hall. There it was, in very small letters above my head: DUMB. I wanted to tell the staff there about the typo in the sign or on the printed map. They both can’t be correct if they’re addressing the same subject. When I finally made my way, they asked what was my expected date. I gasped and said I didn’t know, that was up to God. Then they said that others knew, because their doctors told them they had a certain amount of time left to live. Oh, that’s awful. I hadn’t thought of that and silently counted my blessings. Then the person asked what I wanted to do with my eyes, to have them opened or closed. How morbid! I said closed. Then I remembered the lonely salesman. I was told that if my eyes were healthy, they can remain open, but if there was some sort of trauma, there would be too much blood behind the eyes and they’d have to be shut. Then I realized these guys are running a racket and selling the eyes of the dead. The dream ended or switched to another dream here.