#dATribes


Making the choice is harder. Oh, do I feel regret right now. Believe you me. I'll probably feel regret for a long time until my memory worsens and I've forgotten the whole situation. I'll regret it because of what I regretted prior to the existence of this choice.

What choice this is, I will not say, but it's very much a life changing choice. I hate that. I hate putting my fate into my own hands. It doesn't belong there. It'll get damaged worse than it already is.

So, right now, I'm hoping the anesthesia will somehow disrupt my system and cause me to go into a coma so I can wake up at a later time when people have forgotten me, and I won't have to worry about blockading one-way streets and paving back-roads for select few.

What I'm asking is that you, yes you, pray for me. Pray to God, pray to Allah, pray to yourself, hell, pray to Tom Cruise; just pray that my world isn't about to crash around me because of choices I hate to admit I feel are necessary. I despise ultimatums, and the way I see it, when presented an ultimatum, opt for the one who didn't present it. I hate that belief right now, but I still believe it.

So, stress has amounted to a fully cascading and repetitive nature. As such, my heart is failing to serve me, as little as I ask of it, though I do have to admit that I've never been the nicest to it. I hope it's not too late to start. Maybe it'll forgive me when it's too tired to continue twenty some-odd years from now.

So, I can't stop thinking, "What if?" I hate what ifs. The idea of harping on these thoughts makes me cringe with unmeasurable pain. Yet, here I am. "What if...?" "What if what?" you ask. I can't say. It couldn't be justified. You can't be trusted. You're just the figurative mass that I must say I can at least appreciate for reading this far and putting up with so much of my stupidity.

Speaking of stupidity, did you notice that I'm not cursing as much? I'm definitely stressed, but I'm not pent up with anger now. I'm not frustrated or bewildered by some anomaly that's slapping me in the face with a giant copy of An Idiot's Guide to Life. I'm upset, but I'm trying to think as clearly as I can. My immediate life depends on it.

Maybe my coughing and headache will dissipate by morning, or by the time I get the call tonight, if it indeed comes. Maybe not, however. Maybe I'll be happy. Maybe not. Consider this the third publicly posted personal periodical. Alliteration is a sin, by the way. So is hypocrisy. And you can't forget about irony. That's an important one.


Until next time.