05.03.09

I think I hurt my wrist.

I hit the floor with such a thud because I couldn't see the spill on the kitchen floor. Matter of fact, I couldn't see much of anything.

When I woke up everything was all white and the air felt like it was made of tiny, floating pieces of metal. It hurt my throat, I could barely breathe. I turned the corner to the living room and there was an ever so soft glow emerging from the kitchen. "Oh God", I thought to myself. I don't even believe in God, but for some reason I say "Oh God" an awful lot.

Bracing myself for a mountain of flames I came running in. After crashing on the oil spill, I lifted myself off the tile only to find an iron skillet filled with a charred, unrecognizable delicacy. The thing was smoking like all hell. The small bulb above the stove casting a powdery light on all the dirty dishes and food scraps.

I ran back, opening every window I could find, tears falling out over the floor and holding my pained wrist. "Bing,Bing!" "What do I do??" "Please help me!". He just lay there, drunk and helpless. Leaving me helpless. I got us outside and the apartment-wide fire alarms sounded. They echoed out above the trees and all the way down the empty Sunday morning street. Bing could barely stand. I attempted to have a conversation with him but to no avail. He had snot and spit coming out of every hole on his face.

Soon, the fire department arrived and we had an audience as he leaned against a tree looking like a truck just ran him over. I could just die.

When all was said and done the house still smelled like a thousand burned barbie dolls. So I went to work that morning smelling well-done.