Some night I’ll drink one too many glasses of wine and take one too many Benzos. Well, assuming I decide to drink.
Just have a feeling.
Is it suicide then? Not sure. The Magic 8 Ball says Conditions Cloudy. Check Later.
The older I get the more it seems plausible; so many whose deaths were ruled as accidental were really not so. Maybe accidental on that particular day, but not in total.
Hollywood Babylon makes it the reality it is, and takes the romance out. Good reading if you’re planning on a non-accidental going away party.
Or a party of one sans invitation.
My tentative plans involve going out someplace where family and/or friends will not have to deal with finding me. Well, finding me and cleaning up the aftermath actually. One of the benefits of too many forensic/scientific shows and books is foresight. I’m such a giver.
I know what will happen after checking out. It will be a goddamned mess. Pills or a bullet it doesn’t matter. It’s a horror show for whoever finds you and has to clean that shit up.
I’m thinking hotel. Big hotel with lots of staff and a good reputation. They’ve a familiarity with these things. They have experience AND those big-ass commercial steam-cleaners.
In the last nine months my face has aged almost 10 years. It’s been the hardest year. I read that rubbing bananas on your teeth will whiten them. Now there’s some stupidity whose author could use a dirt nap.
Looking in the mirror makes me cringe. The lines of worry, dry crêpe spots from stress and creases from sleeplessness create a relief map. It’s hideous and sad.
So when does that desire to escape the reality which is slowly killing you turn the dial to Broil?
When does your subconscious slide into the Oops position?
That would be just fucking perfect. With my luck it would be Benzos and a bowl of ice cream. Found two days later covered in chocolate, caramel sauce, sliced banana, strawberry jam and Spanish peanuts. Oh, and kitty bite marks. I could do a Lupe Valez and a Marie Provost.
I gotta stop indulging in those damned noir and vintage films. Or the ice cream.
No matter what, I’d go out smiling
The banana peel of death.
I like that.