Holy Hell! This sinking feeling in my stomach surges like some kind of sick and twisted carnival contraption designed to torment the masses..... We drove home the day after my birthday with tear-soaked intentions to make it through. I'm going to be sick. No, really... don't look. (wipes face).
Two days after the gay bomb detonated I opened my eyes to the not so shiny world. Gawd... my life now sucks ass apparently. I glanced over to the right to see the love of my life. My brain races with an array of possibilities. I envision myself old, living in a trailer park, covetously guarding my title of crazy cat lady. I'll wear one of those fuzzy pink bath robes and have curlers in my hair... I'll sit on the front porch smoking cigarettes while flashing the neighbor man a sneak peak of coming attractions every now and again. I'll throw in a wink here and there just to let him know I mean business. A smoochie face would add just the right touch, don't you think? I look back to my right.
I wonder what is going through his mind. I wonder what he wants. I remember the past year. I recall being so terrified that he would kick the bucket from a damaged heart caused by inappropriate sinus tachycardia. That was when I met my happy little friend named Prozac. I'm going to need more of that. I can feel it deep down in my cerebral cortex. My stomach churns. My gall bladder is furiously upset with me after all the delightful Cajun cuisine that had been forced upon it during my weekend festivities.
I'm going to need some medical attention, stat! I'm used to my gall bladder being a little bitch and have grown accustomed to my frequent trips to the bathroom to toss my cookies right into the throne of dietary redemption. I can get in today if I say I'm sick and puking... which was in no way an exaggeration of the truth. My intentions, however were to get a little more of that handy dandy serotonin re-uptake inhibitor. I was seriously going to need that. So I called and won an audience with my physician that very same day. After a friendly little chat, my wonderful doctor upped my dose... but she also referred me to have a gall bladder scan. I had a fever and there was some concern about the functionality of my glorious bile sack. Like I said, my gall bladder had been a little bitch for awhile. We've had a difference of opinion for some time.
Satisfied with the acquisition of my desired pharmaceuticals, I consented to the scan. What could it hurt?
Afterthought:
If I knew then what I know now, I would have sent him on his merry gay way. I mean, I didn't mean to tame a gay with my magical vagina. It would have been appropriate to return him to his natural habitat, right?
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