dariosaurus

question, have you ever wondered why we as a society say pitter-patter instead of patter-pitter? why is it ping-pong and fiddle-faddle rather than pong-ping and faddle-fiddle? why cant a kitchen be span and spic? how about riff-raff, mish-mash, flim-flam, chit-chat, tit for tat, knick-knack, zig-zag, sing-song, ding-dong, king-kong, criss-cross, shilly-shally, see-saw, hee-haw, flip-flop, hippity-hop, tick-tock, tic-tac-toe, eeny-meeny-miney-moe, bric-a-brac, clickety-clack, hickory-dickory-dock, kit and kaboodle and bibbity-bobbity-boo? why do we say razzle-dazzle instead of dazzle razzle? why super-duper, helter-skelter, harum-scarum, hocus-pocus, willy-nilly, hully-gully, roly-poly, holy moly, herky-jerky, walktie-talkie, namby-pamby, mumbo-jumbo, loosey-goosey, wing-ding, wham-bam, hobnob, razza-matazz and rub-a-dub-dub.

but alas, perhaps my time would be better spent in other areas of thought.

So here’s the thing: everyday I find myself wishing I had a terminal illness. Nothing major like leprosy or HIV but something big enough to make people stop and say ‘that’s rather unfortunate do you need a hug?’. Of course I would refuse said hug because I despise human contact; but the offer is always nice.

So here’s the thing: I once loved someone so much that I just couldn’t stand their existence. This person had no fundamental flaws and was overtly polite but generally had poor taste in super hero powers. Essentially I am a teleporter. I come and go as I please and I go and come as I want. This person, who will now be known as the letter B, however; didn’t want to teleporter at all. B simply wanted to be built of alloy adamantium and encompass regenerative capabilities. And that didn’t work at all.

So here’s the thing: 63.5% of what comes of my mouth is a complete and utter lie. In this case: me wishing I had a terminal illness. The obvious part is that I certainly don’t wish I had a terminal illness; the less obvious part is that I actually have one. It’s nothing major like leprosy or HIV but it’s something big enough to make people stop and offer me hugs at a tedious rate.

So here’s the thing: I once loved someone so much that I jut couldn’t stand the fact that she was incapable of loving me back. Her name was Jody Bekevich, previously known as the letter B, and in five minutes she managed to ruin my life. Our date was about three minutes old when I blurted out that there was a strong possibility I wouldn’t see my twenty second birthday due to my illness. I know mass culture shuns upon telling someone you’ve known for three minutes or less that you are terminal but I figured I would just get it out of the way early. “I think ill go with lemon. What kind of tea are you getting?” she asked. “Blueberry with a sprinkle of, I have a terminal illness” is pretty much how it happened. And as I turned to pay the lady at the cash I noticed that Judy had started to run for the door. I wanted to scream at her that eight months was better than nothing and that most relationships get boring after that point anyway but instead what came out of my mouth was, “Is it too late to cancel the lemon?”. I’m aware it seems odd, but Jody was perfect for me. Black Chuck Taylor’s, an overtly large necklace, brown hair with bangs, and she even wore a t-shirt showcasing my favorite band. Of course she had no idea they were my favorite band but I am assuming that’s why my friend set us up. I’m guessing she was intelligent because she wore a knapsack and anyone who orders lemon tea has to be humorous. Like I said, she was perfect. But then she ran away. She ran away because of something as insignificant as death.

Essentially I am a teleporter so whether it is this world then the next or something completely different I am ready for my fatality. My mind is what makes me who I am. If you strip away all the parts of my facade, insides and bones I will still be myself if my mind is still intact. If I loose that then I am nothing; but to me death strips us of everything expect for our mentality. Because death does nothing more than dismantles our outer shell then what was she so afraid of? Does she know that one day she will also die, as will everyone?

But then again what can I expect. Knowing your approximated expiration date gives you a special viewpoint that not every one has. Like knowing where Waldo is even before reading the book. I’ll never love anyone like I loved Jody Bekevich but in the mean time I suppose I’ll just hang around the hospital and attempt to find a substitute girlfriend who enjoys angst just as much as i do.