How To End the Fucking Year by @ryanmega

When I woke this morning, I didn’t feel right. My throat was dry. It felt like I left my mouth wide open, sleeping on my couch, dreaming all night in a fetal ball.  You notice these things, but you don’t panic when you know the solution. I had a beer near me, still cold from the lack of heat, took a sip, and rose from bed. Today was the last day of the year, and after a few hours of working from home, I would be in the streets to start some fun.

I felt the sinus headache early. A few minutes after rising, I flicked the lights on and off as the lights burned into my socket. It feels like someone is pulling on your optical chords and such. How in the fuck did some tiny fairy get inside of my skull, beneath my eye socket, to play my optic nerves like a marionette? Through my wide open mouth of course. I took a few bangs of some medicine and went on a snot spraying spree in my bathroom. No wins, but the day must go on.

By the time I turned on my laptop I was down to one fucking eye. No doctor’s appointment today. Its hard to focus on anything but pain, but a few emails and I am done for the day. I send a few here and wait. I send a few more and wait. I Google Kim and Kanye’s couple name. It’s KimKan or KimYe. I prefer the latter. I hope he has a prenup.

I am almost at peace with the pain. Not exactly peace, but so dulled by the pain that I am able to ignore it and work around it. I get up to grab some coffee. And water, because WebMd says to get liquids for mucus or something. I take a hit of the bong. I like bong rips.  I forget that I put it down on the ground though. I am so zen about the pain in my eye, I can’t be consumed by the whereabouts of my drugs, as I would be on any other day, when I am sitting at home and hitting the bong. Where is the remote? Where is the bong? Where are the potato chips and the bitches? I come back from the kitchen to wait for the coffee, and kick the bong over when I sit down. It spills all over my company issued laptop. The spoils of working from home. I race to the kitchen to get a dish towel, or a paper towel, or something, but I don’t make it in time. I say this because I can smell the smoke coming from the computer and then just as I turn around, the keyboard shoots out sparks and the screen goes black. The special effects are exactly like you see on TV. Except in this reality, its not my computer. Now I have to make up some lie to tell my boss.

Fin.

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