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Wednesday, February 23, 2005

My Poignant Deathbed Scene

I am blessed with abundance and I often get my way. But that is not enough. I'm not going to get into the grimy details. I'm just saying that if I can't have what I want, then I'm going to have to stay in bed and slowly waste away unto death. I mean it - I'm not getting out of bed again ever. Pity, isn't it? The bathroom sink is only feet away, but I will not drink. The fridge is one room over, but I will not eat. I want what I want, and I don't appear to be getting it. So fuck everything! I'm putting on my pajamas right now, and you won't be hearing from me again. Goodbye forever, suckers!

UPDATE: I had to get out of bed to pee, so I thought I'd update. Tedious, wasting away. I also drank another glass of water because I had some salty beef jerky just now. But that is IT. You won't hear from me again. Watch for my obit in the Star Tribune.

UPDATE: Went to the kitchen for another piece of beef jerky. Tasty. I also put a glass of water beside my bed. But after that, NO MORE getting out of bed. I intend to die miserably. I will teach the universe to deny ME what I want. Stupid universe.

UPDATE: If I knew wasting away was this boring, I would have just gone in to the office. I'm going to have a piece of banana bread and file my nails.


Blogger gatsby said...

i often find myself staring at your comment box.
i'll wake up at my desk having drifted off, lulled asleep by the grinding noise my brain makes.
it's like white noise,
this sound you make my brain make.
i want to say something,
but i can't decide between this ugly desire to throw myself at your feet, (not to worship you so much as to clip you NFL style) or to worship you,
like a dog.
with me as the dog.
my cleric tells me i'm gay and none of this matters, and that's why we don't go to baseball games anymore.
but it's not the sex packard, it's the desire to get to the front of the line at the movie theater. i know you get up there, i'm sure you've worked out a scheme, and i want in.
part of me thinks we could be happy together, and another part tells me i was going to be happy anyway, and you would never empty the dishwasher.
part of me thinks you either have an imaginary friend that kills people, or are a sixteen-year-old boy who has tired of the "god mode" in "ultra-kill-em-all" and now preys upon bloggers.
and who could blame you?
we live in a confusing time. just yesterday a man tried to pay me for his latte with confederate coins, and when i gave him his change in boardgame money, he threw a fit and insulted the hideous woman behind him in line.
in a world such as we live, can we be expected to find happiness? can we be expected even to find a slice of happiness? what about a molecule of happiness?
what if the universe had doubles of happiness, but needed a joe montana rookie card?
what if the universe is taking steroids? how does it think it's going to compete otherwise?
and happiness, what about it?
it's unlikely that the it's in the cards for us.
then again, i haven't looked in the cards. who thinks to look in the cards?
there's a grey cloud in my livingroom, hovering over my trophy case, and i just know it's warping the wood. i'd say something, but what do you say to moisture?
and so it looks like the end for our blustery romance, once so full of endless summer days; i'll never forget the happy times.
what about the time you fell in the river?
was that not the funniest thing you've ever seen?
i'll treasure that moment always.
and what about that gumdrop eating contest?
who knew you were allergic to the purple ones?
and i'll certainly never forget how we laughed at the end of "titanic"- that crazy old lady... what was her problem anyway?

i've said enough.

2:12 AM  
Blogger Unknown said...

Thanks for the inspriation...
I'm as smitten (though maybe not as crazy) as gatsby, and I've proved it.


check it out (please).


9:26 AM  
Blogger trejrco said...

not to put a grim spin on this, but this sort of hideous wasting away is exactly what Terri Schiavo faces if her feeding tube is pulled ... more at Terri's Fight... or (gratuitous plug) at my site, along with lots of other NIF.

10:53 AM  
Blogger Owain said...

I'm not even reading your posts; I'm just here because everyone else is.

Pay attention to me! Look at me! Look what I'm doing! Hey! Hey! Hey! Woot! Over here! Funny monkey milk polyester silk.

I am desperate for people to notice me. I'm so lonely.

12:25 PM  
Blogger OldHorsetailSnake said...

Esthie: This is the funniest thing I've read today...no, this week. Please die soon, I can't wait for the posting about it. Surely it will be a riot for everybody except you.

12:52 PM  
Blogger noisy ghost said...

Ms. Wilberforce-Packard, you keep mentioning that you are disappointed with life. That you're not getting what you want. Have you considered Voodoo? I know it sounds funny, but you really shouldn't judge if you haven't tried it. And, I've been told that chickens don't feel pain like we do.

7:13 PM  
Blogger Spirit Fingers said...

First Hunter S. Thompson now Esther W-P. The good ones always go too soon.

4:35 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Esther, dear, I hope this doesn't result in another tragic Otto da Fe.

I think you need to have a bottle of medicine next to the bed as well. May I suggest Teachers or White Label. Just in case the water lacks the quenching punch you require.

And a couple of glasses in case I stop by to check up on my patient.

(And you must tell Owain to stop that nonsense. I can hardly hear myself blog what with all his prattling and caring on.)

7:50 AM  
Blogger Esther Wilberforce-Packard said...

Thank you all for your support during this difficult time. I've taken the voodoo and Teachers advice to heart. Last night I went to the hardware store and demanded to speak to Papa Legba - but they turned me away because I was "drunk" and "no one by that name works the evening shift."

10:31 AM  
Blogger trejrco said...

"Please die soon, I can't wait for the posting about it" ... now that is funny!


11:25 AM  

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