The light on the back of my eyes wrenches up my veins into the void. I am an acid bath of retching guts. Fire is bubbling up my throat. I am a lone Ronin on the field of future gold. This is the Wild West. We must honor our heritage. Trailblazer for a little fun in the sun. Two more days to the home stretch. Give me that five-dollar foot long on my five-dollar foot schlong. I need that sweet meat. Something good to eat. We all must take our medicine. We all must know when it’s time to call it a night. My mouth full with the pills that keep increasing. I’m not snorting anymore Flonase, I say, because I don’t need the steroids. It wrecks lungs, and don’t even get me started on Prilosec.
I’ve got a baby or two to care for. Maybe I’m destined to be the pervert father. Why else would The Lord bless me with a daughter?
I know nothing, Jon Snow. You’ve got to change gears so often. Keeping time as you watch the baby’s heartbeat slow with less kicks and shifts. Our next appointment is in just a couple of days, so no one is rushing to the emergency room. My wife’s mood has grown more negative. It’s like there is a dead and rotting thing inside of her. I’m in the car, driving her to her last day of work, wondering if it will be better for me to show as little emotion as possible, moving straight on to the next life moment, or if I should let it all out, catalyzing other emotional reactions within myself, finally crying in front of my wife. It’s hard to say if that’s even possible anymore. I didn’t cry when we gave our dog away, and I’ve never even met this baby.