Author: ST Martin

But I will go lie awake, staring at the inside of my eyelids for an hour or so. Then I will get up at 7, feed the cats and dog, walk said dog, then come inside for a nice hot cup of coffee. Which I will simultaneously fall asleep in and spill all over my devices (and lap ) which will cause me to leap to my feet spewing expletives and banging my head on the light fixture. The light bulb will then shatter, causing splinters of glass and a wisp of mercury to float down into my oatmeal, which will make me swear louder, and, in a futile effort to save my breakfast I will then swipe the vintage bowl off the table ( using an admirable left hook maneuver) which will cause it to fly at a high rate of speed in a semi-downward trajectory into my favorite antique lamp. This lamp will fall to the left in a seemingly slow motion arc, tumbling into three collectible and highly prized ceramic vases which then cascade in a cacophony of tinkling noises onto my sleeping cat who reacts by leaping an incredible 4 feet in the air from a prone position, all four feet splayed wide with claws in full extension as he screams like a dying jackrabbit. In turn this bloodcurdling sound will awaken my neurotic and highly excitable one-eyed Shih-Tzu who suffers from an unusual condition called projectile elimination which then will violently erupt from both her mouth and anus in a vile torrent of hot $@#% that shoots onto my signed copy of “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” in one direction and all over a 17th century French tapestry in the other.

At this instant I will suddenly recall that I keep a loaded 357 in my bathroom medicine cabinet, right next to a full bottle of prescription pain killers, so I shall make a blisteringly fast lunge towards said bathroom. This will then cause my previously broken left ankle to twist, and the spilled coffee will assist in my falling with a huge OOMPH! sound onto my tile floor, cracking my head on the table edge on the way down. My efforts to retrieve aforementioned items undaunted, I will proceed down the hall still on my ass, using a beached alligator movement I saw on reels at 3:59 AM. Upon reaching the bathroom with my butt now covered in dust bunnys that clung to the spilled coffee, I will reach my right arm up and attempt to hoist myself to a standing position where I can teeter on one leg and root thru the medicine cabinet. However, unbeknownst to me, the commode has become loosened from its moorings in the 50 years since it’s instalation, and as a result will tip over on top of me and pour out all over the floor. Now in a blinding and sputtering rage that will see no reason, I miraculously leap to my feet fishing wildly for the bottle of morphine, and finding the pill bottle I swallow all 9 capsules. I then will feel the cold steel handle and stagger into the hallway, dead set on ending my misery, when I suddenly slip on the contents of the spilled toilet and feel myself falling again, clawing with one hand at the wallpaper on the way down. When I briefly regain consciousness I shall see in hazy detail and close proximity the label of the empty pill bottle which lay 2 inches from my nose. Incredibly I will read the word laxative on the line where pain relief should be, and at this very moment I will feel my bowels roil in protest. Crying out in my frustration and disbelief I then lift the object in my left hand, and with a quick prayer for mercy I shall pull the trigger and shut my eyes. When nothing happens I will look and see that I’m trying to end my life with a curling iron…

(I think I better go back to bed now….)