Death by Stupid

3-13-10                 4:07pm

Text to Sarah just now:

“I’m gonna die soon, if not today. The stupid people have infiltrated me like cancer and are taking me down. Grrr.”

Her answer:

“?”

It’s like those black blobs the walls are shooting at Mr. Incredible in Incrediboy/S-‘s computer corridor. He’s Mr. Incredible but the sheer volume of these things takes him down. Synthro? What is his name? (I can think over music but not commercials.)

I am confused and disheartened by the state of my mind today. I am all over. I woke up at 2. The sunshine overwhelmed me. 5 minutes after finishing a bowl of ramen I HAD to have a toasted turkey sandwich. I was laughing and laughing. Like something was extremely funny. Too funny. My mind is racing with music and great comebacks, funny musings, creative thoughts. It’s frighteningly speedy. Then suddenly, in the middle of eating chips & filling my pill box, it stopped. I could barely lift a chip. I felt extremely sad. My whole body sinks.

I called Medicare, which is always a recipe for disaster. This woman actually had the guts to be mad at ME for not having the info SHE needed to help me. (deep breath…) Death by stupid. It’s coming soon. I’m going to have a heart attack. A coronary or an aneurysm or a stroke. Because of the stupid people. And they don’t know it. But somewhere at the top there’s a smart person who’s turned. And this person KNOWS if you irritate a smart person enough, eventually they will just die. I’m convinced that my head might just explode and little pieces of colored confetti will fly everywhere. There is one rogue smart person at the top plotting to kill us all off. And no one will think to blame the stupid people or the smart person at the top. My question is what’s the payoff? What reward could be worth such a thing as killing off your own kind? Or what horrible thing happened that serves as motivation? Or maybe it’s like the elf-girl in Santa Baby 2: Christmas Maybe.

I feel my spirit erode. I want to cry but I don’t have the energy. I laid back down. I’m so tired that it’s hard to sit up. It’s hard to open my eyes. I am freezing cold. My right leg is on and off shaking. The radio in the living room seems so loud. I’m in my room.

I hate feeling this way. Blankets don’t make me any warmer. They’re just heavy. I’m extremely anxious but Xanax will just make me sleep. My lips are tingling. My right eye feels weird. And I’m stuttering. I don’t stutter. Ever. I’m scared.

*I just told my mom when I die I want her to read my blog and journals.

I honestly feel like I’m dying, like there isn’t much time left. The other day I thought if I only live 10-20 more years then my mid-life crisis was timed appropriately. But today I don’t think I’ll make it that long.

  • Please, make sure someone reads my writing. I wanted it published. In color with the pictures. But I have no money.
  • (note about life insurance policies and how to distribute funds)
  • Give my clothes to someone who will enjoy them. Keep whatever makes you happy.
  • Have everyone wear bright colors and do the Hokey Pokey, the Cha Cha Slide, and play Big Booty (ask a Summerstock person) at my funeral.
  • I thought I wanted to be cremated but I don’t. It robs me of the opportunity to get dressed up one last time. You can do whatever you want with my body when you’re done, but dress me up. Show me off. Let people appreciate me.
  • Find out what was wrong with me, PLEASE. Give it a name. It really matters.
  • And tell – that I loved him. He never knew.
  • PS – Please bury me in my clog shoes. And donate my brain to research. And have the community event for Susan’s film.

(more writing and another list)

  • Point out the stupid of the world, for my sake.
  • And remember the bad, not just the good. I can be a kiniving bitch. Don’t throw that part of me away.
  • And please, paint my toenails hot pink.
  • And serve ramen at the funeral reception. :)

I’d like to turn the radio on but it’s always too loud and it competes with the music in my head.

(rant about how I’d rather stab myself in the eye with a butter knife than go to another board meeting.)

Talking makes me dizzy…

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