The Belching Dead

My eye keeps twitching. More specifically the area below my left eye keeps twitching. It wouldn’t be so bad except people keep asking, “hey, did you know your eye was twitching?” Shoot, like I would not know this type of thing. Then some stupid joke follows. They are all going to feel really bad if it turns out I am having a stroke. Really, really bad.

I know some people are more comfortable with nudity than others. I am one of the others, not all that comfortable with it, but I accept that. So while at the gym, I always go into one of the stalls to change my clothes in privacy. Some people do not. Ok? There’s always the one woman who walks around the locker room, free as a can be, with things flopping all about. Every gym has this woman. I accept that too. The problem happens when I am sitting on the bench and tying my shoes and she comes along, puts one leg up on the bench six inches from my face, and starts applying lotion into crevices and other such places. You shouldn’t have to see someone’s cervix when you look up from tying your shoes. You just should not.

8:27 a.m. and I have yet to do any work, but I have eaten half of a Starbuck’s banana nut muffin. I’m not sure if I would recommend it. It’s all right, but not enough nuts, and too much cinnamon or something. Should be called shittamon. That concludes my culinary recommendation of the day.

When I worked at a hospital, my office was in the old MICU wing – they converted one of the patient rooms into 4 cubicles – and that was it for the whole floor! Wait, I’m going somewhere. There was only one bathroom and it was at the end of this darkened hall – since no one else was using the floor, the lights were minimum. Ok then, I went into the bathroom on a Monday morning and this old woman was on the floor, just sitting propped up between the sinks. I think she was homeless and had come in there over the weekend and at some point expired. At least I figured she was dead. I kind of kicked her with my shoe to make sure she was really dead and not just sleeping. Nice shoes too, they were my new Kate Spade ones, so it was really a sacrifice on my part. When I kicked her (not hard, just a nudge! – I’m not an animal), her head sort of fell to the side and this burping sound escaped her mouth, I don’t know, trapped air or something? This was a really small bathroom, so I jumped, back because dead bodies are not supposed to burp, and hit my head on the bathroom door, overcompensated by leaning forward and landed on top of a very dead woman. Yes, she was all the way dead, definitely not sleeping. My point is that whenever I think I am having a bad day, I just remember that at least I haven’t fallen on top of a dead, gassy corpse, so t could always be worse. That’s the standard I use anyhow.


2005-08-03 at 8:40 a.m.