Liminal Time

So I walk in one of my old haunts the other day, and I see one of my old neighbors from the East End.  She thought I’d died.  When? I ask. When your gas stove blew up last month, she says.  I can’t resist asking, When was that?

So she explains to me what happened on those four days I blacked out, the big overdose.  She said I turned the gas on high, blew out the pilot light, and started chain smoking anything I could get my hands on.  Then I started knocking on people’s doors all down the block telling them about the imminent explosion.  Before long, fire trucks and patrol cars had the street blocked off.  She said I was walking like a parapalegic (sp?), too jammed to walk properly, chainsmoking Camels the entire time…

So do I have a hidden deathwish?  Am I really trying to discreetly kill myself?  I have no idea, but that’s what they thought at the hospital, putting a nurse or security guard in my room 24/7, all the while feeding me methadone wafers and Xanax tabs.  My heart rate in the emergency room was 268bpm; I have no idea why I lived through that.

~ by motokokusanagi on October 27, 2007.