My goal in life is to achieve escape velocity from the cosmos. At the final heat death, as the universe crystalizes into pure frozen entropy, I wish only to be part of the last thoughts of the last dying entity.
Like Bach will be.
On that note, what an honor to be bitten by a mosquito. By drinking my blood and growing fat on it, the insect gains the capacity to give birth to twenty score new mosquitos, and therein is perhaps no small chance that some memory of me and my body will be present at the very end.