Someone asked me recently where I get my literary images of what I write about. He was asking in reference to a post I wrote called,
and the description of me dangling by my foot from scaffolding. I explained to him as I’ll explain to you, my ever worthy reader.
Images? That’s easy. Have you seen me? I’m always in the midst of battling my way out of some domestic tornado from my own making. Sort of like Pigpen from Peanuts but instead of dirt circling, it’s constant bullshit. The image of me dangling 30 feet in the air only held up by the ace bandage I’m wearing from my previous injury comes from the fact that it actually will happen. I know it will.
Hell, yesterday, I celebrated my 18th stabiversary; 18 years of surviving what would’ve killed most people…and still partying like life depends on it the entire time, which would kill most people, too. So considering that my worst injury so far is just a good ole stab in the throat; oh, or maybe the whole infected foot thing two years ago; or the carpal tunnel I got in my right hand (though it did make masturbating interesting) that rendered me useless for six months shortly after that; or when you consider that most of my childhood stories, as told by my family, are punctuated by, “that’s that other time when Molly almost died,” over and over, coming up with images to describe my every day isn’t difficult. It’s who I’m meant to be and I, apparently, take it seriously.
Motivational speaker, I am not.
Oh, then there’s the recent series of events that inspired me to write this. Not exciting. Not terribly tragic, either, but kind of funny. And kind of funny is all I’m aiming for right now. And Medi-Cal. C’mooooooo’on Medi-Cal. Because someone’s gotta pay for my ricochet. Being the subject of a calamitous farce of real life but with no paying audience doesn’t get me Blue Cross.
I’ll guess I’ll have to settle for funny. The ridiculous images of my ultimate demise…which will take so long and be so ridiculous that videos of it will be up on youtube long before anyone realizes I’m actually dead this time.
And if I weren’t dead, I’d laugh at that, too.
So, when are you coming to Cali?
Any more questions? I’m a veritable fount of clumsy here at the No Toast.
I write awkward tales. Mostly funny. Usually true. Often truthfully funny.