My 1st Suicide Attempt was at IHOP
I know what you're thinking. It's just not logical. There's no sufficient explanation. If you know me you would say, "What the flip, Becca? Why? You have such a good thing going for you?"But guys, in all honesty, life really isn't all it's made out to be. Everything in life, thus far in college anyway, is distressing, and yet mild simultaneously. No umph. I have all this crap going on that by normal standards should make me feel alive; yet, I'm still waiting for life to friggin' begin. Boo. So, I had to do, what I had to do.
I won't go into all the goringly-appalling-obescenererous-macabrelitic details...so, let's just say that there were a lot of condiments (if you know what I mean), and leave it at that.
My poor little breakfast club always comes with me to study (Cris, Van, and Camila), so I won't feel so overwhelmed by myself. But that night, especially, I was feeling the weight of life. We ordered. The food was served. And the whole time we were eating...it was on my mind. I knew it was coming. It had to be done.
As I started to gather the tools I would use for my suicide:
Camila looked at me with those big puppy-eyes of hers, not understanding, confused.
Cris not knowing whether to be concerned or to just watch attentively to see if I would have a change in judgement.
Van with a tilted head, watching in disbelief of what might be happening.
I began to pour whatever I could find. I had all the orange juice, blueberry syrup, and diet coke any sane person could handle in a glass...(so to speak).
And I chugged. I chugged till I could chug no more. I chugged until it could possibly be considered a sin. It was only three ounces of the suicidal poison, but I could feel it all through my veins.
"Hand me coffee, ranch dressing, ketchup, and let's make this a real suicide!" Three ounces turned into four, and four ounces turned into five, and five ounces turned into, well, you get the picture.
When I finished the drink, I was revitalized, surprisingly, and utter euphoria filled my soul...followed by indegestion, flatulence (of course), nausea, delerium, and finally a spit ball fight with my gurly gurls.
What a night. What a spit-ball fight. What a suicide.
posted by Becca @ 6:21 PM
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