Tag Archives: dying

Living Dead Girl


It started with my kidneys. One day I woke up and they just weren’t there anymore. I don’t know how I knew. I mean, it wasn’t like that urban legend where the girl wakes up in a tub of ice to find a massive gash in her lower back that’s been stitched up after someone removed her kidneys. I woke up in my own bed, not in ice, but actually with my body temperature high because of my lime-green-and-fuschia-striped comforter. I panicked, and called Riley, my boyfriend at the time, at work.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he had asked when I told him about my missing kidneys. “Are you high?”

When I said no, and tried to explain the situation, he blew up at me and told me he was busy at work, and that I needed to quit making stupid shit up. I realize now what an asshole he was, because he didn’t seem the least bit concerned that my body parts were beginning to disappear, even when he came over that night after work and saw how freaked I was. He stuck around for a few more months, but when I wouldn’t let it go, and then my pancreas disappeared, he told me he’d had enough of my shit. By that point, I wasn’t really sad to see him go.

I know, you’re wondering how my body can still function without kidneys and a pancreas. I don’t have an explanation, except to say that I’m not actually alive anymore. My shrink says I’m hallucinating; that if I take a minute and really ponder it, I might realize how silly it sounds that I’m still walking around and going about my life if I’m actually dead. My response to her was, “Why don’t you  think about how silly it sounds that a living person is functioning without the necessary body parts?”

Yeah, she didn’t like that. So she wrote me another prescription that I didn’t fill.

My sister was with me when my lungs disappeared. By then, I was pretty much resigned to the fact that I’d never be an organ donor, what with all my parts vanishing, but I let her know anyway, in case we happened to run a marathon and I came up short of breath. She knew about my other body parts, so she was sufficiently sympathetic. She offered to drive me to the clinic, and seemed relieved when they presented us with X-rays that clearly sported a healthy-looking set of lungs. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that they’d done that before- gotten my X-rays mixed up with another patient’s. I want her faith in our medical community to remain intact.

After that, I kept that fact that I dematerializing to myself. It’s bad enough that I’m dealing with the fact that I ceased to exist. I don’t need my friends and family aggravating the situation by telling me I’m more unhinged than Kanye West at an awards show. I may be missing internal organs, but my feelings are still there. I’m just hoping my heart dissolves before it gets broken, because at least that won’t hurt. I’ve always heard a broken heart is a tough thing to deal with. The real question is- can my heart still break if I’m already dead?

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Filed under Entertainment, Family, fiction, Life, short story, Uncategorized

Biker Chic


Today I shall amuse you with the story of how I was a faux biker chic. For 4 whole weeks.

I have long found a fascinating with bikers and motorcycles, (Sons of Anarchy is pretty much my favorite show) although I prefer the looks of very fast street bikes to anything that resembles a Harley. My ex-husband was very influential in shaping my inclination to Yamaha streetbikes by  making frequent visits to every Yamaha dealer within a 100 mile radius. He and his brother also switched ownership back and forth of a Yamaha TDM,  a rarer model of streetbike that was much to tall for me to sit on, that in no way deterred me from attempting to start it up when I was inebriated, resulting in a cartoonish-like incident where I gunned the throttle and the bike when skating off into the garage wall. (oops)

During one of the occassions when said TDM was under my ex’s ownership, he thought it would be dandy to have a girlfriend who could ride her own bike, so I came home from work to find a Kawasaki Ninja 250 waiting for me. He explained that he was jut at the dealer and saw this little bike and had just gotten paid from a concrete job, so he had mega-moolah in his pocket, so he paid cash for it. (Yet he forgot to pay the electric bill) I ignored the fact that such an impulse buy was completely doltish, because I was distracted by images running through my head of me on my new crotch rocket, scooting down the open road at 100 mph with the wind in my hair and the cops at my back. I wanted to get started learning how to ride immediately.

Now, I had ridden BEHIND my ex on his bike, but I had never in my life sat on a moving motorbike alone. Needless to say, the first few attempts were… interesting. Luckily, we were living in the middle of Bum-Fuck Egypt at the time, so there were many empty roads at our disposal. My ex had a friend, Fred, who accompanied us on my learning sessions, and after the third time I stuck my leg out to stop my new bike, he stated, “I can’t watch. She’s going to die.” while shaking his head and walking away. I felt affronted at such a statement. Of course I was going to stick my leg out to stop, that’s habit when you stop a pedal bike!

Let’s just say that although I got down the shifting, I never fully got the balancing act down. Paired with the fact that my legs were slightly too short to reach the ground while stopped on my bike, it is understandable why my ex decided to sell my Ninja while I was at work only a few short weeks after he bought it for me. His visions must have been slightly different than mine- instead of the police giving chase to me  with the wind in my hair, he saw them calling ambulances and firetrucks when I stuck my leg out to stop and crashed into a passel of school children.

P.S. I STILL want to go to Strugis. Even if I have to walk to get there.

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