And go fuck yourselves, every one!

Tiny tim

Not in the holly jolliest of moods.

Not sure why. But the fact that it’s Xmas Eve and I will be spending it all alone as usual and that’s pretty fucking depressing probably has something to do with it.

I’ve been trying to have some Xmas spirit. And I was doing OK at that until this afternoon. Woke up from a nap in a dark black cloud of roiling smoke and reeking of latent malevolence and nuclear grade crankiness.

Probably just as well that I won’t be around others for a while, then.

Because I feel extra crappy right now. and I might lash out if provoked.

Put a sign on my cage. CAUTION : Snarly fox. Do not approach without gingerbread.

I am sure this will pass, through. I might even attempt to do something radical to mark the occasion like… anything.

Usually I mostly just let the whole thing slide past me in a stunned state and then the moment it’s all over suddenly come back to life in time for the weeping and the wailing and the gnashing of the teeth as I beat myself up over all the awesome Xmas things that I could have done.

But that is totally bullshit.

Because no, I couldn’t have done those things.

If I could have, I would have. But my mental illness made them impossible. It clogs up everything, making it impossible for all but the meekest and weakest impulses to actually translate into action.

So sure, there are things I “could” do. Maybe take a cab to see a movie. Dune is still in the theatres. So are many other great things, I am sure.

Could even have a nice dinner out while I am out on the town. Do the dinner and a movie thing out at Riverport. Have dinner at the Old Spaghetti Factory, where they make old spaghetti.

Sounds very nice. I can afford it easily, too.

But I just don’t have the energy/motivation/wherewithal/whatever.

Pasta sounds good, though, so I will probably order in some Meaty Marinara from Pizza Hut. Maybe some garlic bread too.

No dessert, though. They don’t have any “mild” desserts at Pizza Slut these days. Just stuff that would damn near kill me.

Besides, I am saving all my naughtiness points for dinner at Joe’s family home tomorrow night. I will arrive with a hearty appetite and LOTS of insulin so I can enjoy my one night a year of total indulgence without dying.

After all, if I die, I’ll have to stop eating!

So nah, no extra naughtiness for me. It’s bad enough that I will be eating all that carb laden pasta and garlic bread.

Probably a Caesar salad, though. Delicious and nutritious and putting down a layer of slow digesting cellulose (in the lettuce) should slow down the digestion of the pasta.

If only that was enough to make the Slut’s Big Cookie safe to eat. That thing is awesome. Especially with ice cream.

I better stop before I whip myself into a gluttonous frenzy.

More after the break.

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Gasping my last

Well I just about died.

Was eating supper – went for Indian instead of pasta. Had taken a big bite of curry (lamb of course) and was washing it down with a swig of my beloved diet cola when Something Went Wrong.

A bunch of bubbles decided they wanted to come up at the same time the food and diet cola were trying to go down and hence the diet cola got stuck in the middle and tried to choke me to death.

And as I was wheezing and gagging and choking and thinking I was about to die, all I could think about was that I was alone and there was no body around to hear my throttling sounds and either thump me on the back, do the Heimlich, or call 911.

So while my worst fear – asphyxiation – was happening, another big league contender – dying alone and helpless – was also in play.

This was all, obviously, super fucking scary. I thought I was going to die.

In retrospect, unlikely, as people general don’t choke to death on fluids very often^[1], but it was definitely a possibility.

I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes or anything. but that was probably because it’s very dull and this was not the right time to be bored.

I think I know how it all happened. Not only did that weird thing where bubbles trapped in the top of my neck suddenly – and painfully – happen, but the curry was also clearing out my sinuses so I had an unwholesome cascade of “nasal fluid” going down the back of my throat at the same time.

Plus, I was making the near-fatal mistake of actually feeling pretty good for a change, and was eating and drinking in a certain cavalierly multitasking fashion that has led to so many bad incidents in the past, especially when carbonation is involved.

Granted, those were all irritable bowel incidents and those are fairly unlikely to kill you – they just make you want to die.

So obviously, I am going to eat more slowly in the future and try not to inhale my food and that means being mindful of my eating instead of eating while doing a bunch of other shit and barely paying attention to my meal at all.

Not only is that dangerous, you’re also not even tasting your food properly.

And that’s a crime.

But in the longer term, I am seriously wondering if I should get myself one of those “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” buttons that dials 911 for me.

The next time, I might not be so lucky as to be able to clear the blockage myself.

The next time, in fact, it could be something far more serious and severe.

The kind of thing where seconds count and I might not be able to cry out for help, or it might be that nobody can hear me.

I am very, very scared.

I need some way to deal with this.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.