Slow Death at the Mortuary
This morning I found myself in a very ironically disturbing situation. For the past few months I have been training for a marathon. In the mornings I head to the gym to put unreal amounts of miles under my belt. Often on the way to the gym I am distracted by food, and end up making a few trips to fast food places. Today was one of these trips to the gym. After grabbing my goodies, I drove around like usual in search of an empty parking lot where I would not have witnesses catching sight of my ravenous eating. After a short drive I found a nice empty parking lot where I could do my dirty business. I parked, and looked around... I was in the parking lot of a mortuary. My thoughts raced and I felt a hot fear rush over me. Here I was, slowly killing myself, in the parking lot of a MORTUARY, a home that prepares deceased people for the grave. I felt sick inside. WHAT AM I DOING??! I don't want to die. I have so much to live for; Mr Doe, baby Doe, my family, friends. Flashes of someone finding me dead in my car with a danish in my mouth crossed my mind. What a way to die. I want to go out with a blaze, not in a car making a glutton out of myself. I want to die having the most incredible sex, jumping out of a plane, I would even settle for dieing in church, but NOT LIKE THIS. Today I faced my mortality, and then I ate my danish.