Comic Despair

I had the worst dream last night. I was riding one of those spinning teacup rides, except they were shoes. I was inside a shoe that spun around, chaotically fast. I thought I was going to vomit, choke on my vomit, and die. I will place heavy negative emphasis on that last detail by adding that the worst way to die, in my opinion, is to choke on your own vomit from some stress induced situation. Not only is it uncomfortable and painful, but it's pathetic and embarrassing. I want to look like a hero when I die. Even if I'm not, even if I'm the village rapist, a murderer of children, or some fascist dictator, I want to look like a hero just for when I die. They can find out the terrible truth after, what do I care I'm dead.

There's more.

My friends were standing by the ride chatting as I spun round and round, into my death. I was shouting for them to throw me the shoe laces. Predictably, no one responded, no one even looked in my direction. Round and round. My skin, shaken loose from my bones. I felt the chunks coming. I wanted to wave both arms wildly, so that I could catch someone's attenton. But instead I hugged the tongue tighter and screamed for laces. Everything was a white blur, fading to black. The proper words should have been: "somebody, help me."

Reality. I sat up. I could still feel chunks welling up in my throat. I thought it humorous that even in imminent death, I would creatively try to save my own life by demanding something so ridiculous as shoelaces. It really made sense at the time.