“Hey, these are Cigarettes!?!”

I had an almost Joycian epiphany last Sunday. Sparkle and I were on our way to get breakfast, when I noticed that we were talking about the pleasantness of being stabbed. Which, naturally, led the conversation to the classic debate of whether it is better to die by drowning or immolation.

(Ancient, olden readers will note that this is a debate I’ve had here before. Usually sandwiched in one of my “songs I want played at my funeral” blogs.)

It was at this moment that I realized that this really is my life. Endless conversations with various people about whether your lungs bursting would hurt more than multiple knife punctures. I felt the stabbing would be better; theorizing that after a few stabs your nervous system would simply shut down due to shock. You’d end up not noticing that you’re bleeding to death.

Whereas with drowning you’d feel everything. Your brain would be struggling against the confines of reality as it realized that your body can’t get oxygen. The resistance felt as the water pushed against your limbs could only add to the claustrophobic sensation.

Clearly my hat is in the “stabbing” rink.

The (normal) people I work with only seem to talk about conservatism, fucking and buying things. How I wish I had the capacity to tolerate that kind of boredom. I’ve found I can barely work in the same building with them. I’ve found myself refusing to even share the break room with them at lunch. Instead, I find myself enjoying eating in my car a whole lot lately.

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