As I Lay Dying…In My Shower.

If you came here for Faulkner–my bad. This post has no literary merit.

I am up writing this at the insane hour of 10pm.

You read that correctly: 10pm. Way past my bedtime.

I am fairly certain that I’m a geriatric old crone in the body of a 20 something who appears to be in her early to mid-teens. It’s surprising that I don’t have more identity issues.

I’m mostly awake, partially asleep at the moment because my throat has newly adopted a sandpaper-like coating and my stomach feels like it’s full of [insert something that makes you nauseous here because just thinking about the possibilities is making it worse].

I’ll be the first to admit that when I get sick, I turn into a big baby. Actually, I’m worse (sorry, babies, didn’t mean to insult you). I think the reason behind my sickly downward spiral is that I have a wonderful immune system that very rarely succumbs to any ailments. At most, I get sick twice a year. I’m not used to the misery.

Since relocating to LA, my allergies have been non-existent (huzzah!) which is one less opportunity for my body to form a mutiny. But I already feel those tiny little germs banding together to cripple the mighty sailing prowess of the S.S. Short and Feisty.

UGH.

To relieve some of my nausea, I decided to take an extended (read: 30 minute) shower just a moment ago–a remedy I came up with in college after imbibing one or four drinks too many.

This time around, being completely sober, was eye opening. Here are just some of the thoughts that rattled through my mind while coaching myself to keep my dinner from floating down the shower drain:

  1. Life is too short–if I make it out of this bathtub, I’m going to start living life more fully. But I should wait to do that until I put some clothes on because I do not live in a nudist colony. 
    • Where is the nearest nudist colony, anyway? What if I want to tour one–do I have to strip down to do it? Do they ever get tired of being naked? I get tired of wearing clothes–is the opposite possible?
  2. I’m going to look back on this horrible moment, years from now when I am filthy stinkin’ rich, and think “Man. I really did start from the bottom. Rock bottom.”
  3. My hair has been really shiny lately and it’s getting far too long. I’ve only let one person cut my hair, ever, and she lives on the East Coast. Who is going to cut my hair now?
    • I wonder what it feels like if I wear my hair like a mustache (the answer to that is: kinda slimy since it’s wet, but surprisingly satisfying.)
      • That’s what she said.
        • When did I start setting myself up for jokes?
    • Would a beard feel the same way?
      • Answer: Yes.
  4.  I wish I had an agent. Woe is freakin’ me.
  5. I am such a lightweight now that I don’t drink every weekend like I did in my Glory Days. One beer and I’m sick as a dog. Well, I don’t honestly think it was the beer that sent me to Death’s Doorstep. Rather, it was probably all of those drippy little noses I’ve been wiping these past couple of weeks.
  6. When is the next new episode of Parks and Rec coming on and will I live to see it?
  7. Is this real life?! :

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