I don't go outdoors anymore unless it's to go to work, so my stories will be limited lately. Until I make a full recovery from camping, anyway. Indoors, I see a lot of Natalya, I.T. Guy's beautiful girlfriend. She used to work at one of the buildings I.T. Guy and I worked together in, but apparently she's followed me downtown. I always crash into her exiting the freight elevator and she smiles at me smugly, thinking, "You unkempt drunk in flip flops that my now-boyfriend refused to sleep with. Haha." At least that's what I assume she's thinking. She was at the party that night, and I don't know what else a smile like that could reflect. She'll then see me later in the day when my hair has dried in an unbelievably bad manner and smile an even smuggier smile. On the days that I look amazing, where is Natalya to be found? Nowhere. Oooh, I don't like being around Natalya.
One morning, I vowed to both look amazing and crash into smug Natalya outside the freight elevator, so I spent an inordinate time straightening my 'fro with my new straightener. While checking out the underwhelming results in the mirror, I noticed what appeared to be a tick on the back of my neck. I calmly ripped it off my person and quickly consulted my sister on the matter.
"I'm going to die of Lyme Disease now," I complained over the phone, "I bet it's been on me since camping."
"I don't think Lyme Disease kills you right away," she answered, "It makes you sluggish and insane first."
We both paused, thinking the same thing, which is that clearly I've been suffering from Lyme Disease for a long time in that case. About 29 years.
It just figures I'm going to die slow and painfully. I could be in Heaven right now, but no. Why should my death suck any less than my life?