Of course, a lot of such deaths are due to “movie disease” — that desirable ailment that leaves its victim fresh-faced (except perhaps a bit of dark Max Factor under the eyes and cheekbones, plus a dab of pale matte lipstick), coherent, and with plenty of time to say their perfect goodbyes to the people they love. But even when I know I’m being played, the tears I’m shedding are the tears of my old friend, catharsis, otherwise known as joy. The person on screen is dying exactly as I hope to die, borne up by the people of my heart, with minimal discomfort and maximum love.

“Those years of sluthood taught me more than you could imagine about friendship, about connection, about pain, about ecstasy, and about where all those experiences intersect – a nexus which I like to call ‘my life’.”