While I waited for the shift change to happen I just “cooled my heels” in the emergency room. Actually, this is more true than you would think. When I left the house all I had on was a thin pair of shorts, undershirt, and boxers. Nothing else.

In case anyone doubts it, I’ll state it here. This is NOT how you wish to be dressed when in the hospital. Hospitals are COLD. This is only exacerbated by the fact that they will have you remove your shirt in order to put the probes/sensors on your skin. I couldn’t put my shirt back on while I was hooked up, so I laid the paper-thin gown over my chest in hopes to try to retain a little body heat.

Somewhere along the line one of the nurses asked when the last time I had eaten. I informed them it had probably been about 36 hours since I ate. A turkey sandwich and sprite showed up a couple of minutes later. I was able to choke down around 3 bites. I’ve never really been a fan of turkey anyway, and this was just bread and turkey. Pretty dry. =/ I was very eager to get the sprite into my system though. It disappeared in short order.

Unfortunately, I started feeling queasy right away. Everything came up again within 5 minutes. I decided eating was over-rated. I laid back and closed my eyes. I was hoping to try to get a few moments of sleep, despite the poison coursing through my system at that moment. Fat chance. My IV was also starting to sting. I fiddled with it, but it was secured pretty well with a clear sticker-thing.

At around quarter to 6 I met my “sitter”. A very nice black woman, whose name escapes me at the moment I’m afraid. We discussed things briefly, just mainly to get past the initial awkwardness of “Hi, I’m here to watch you because you did something tremendously stupid, and the hospital can’t afford to risk you trying something again.”

Shortly thereafter I was wheeled up to my room, with my new best friend in tow. I’m not sure why, but the sensation of smoothly gliding through the hallways was oddly luxurious. Perhaps because it’s one of the few times I’ve traveled without being in control or using my own power. Perhaps it evokes a memory of being an infant in a stroller, safe and secure. *shrug*

A short elevator ride and some hallways later, and I was wheeled into my room. The nurses aid helped me transfer into the bed and.. uh-oh. I had a feeling of “messing myself”. Not fun. With a large amount of embarrassment, I explained what had happened. The nurse checked my rear and said she didn’t see anything. That was a relief.

They fitted me with a new gown, attached a wireless telemetry tracker to my sensors, and stuck it in pocket it was designed for. This pocket also happened to be smack dab in the middle of my chest. I was also fitted with a purple colored wrist band (more on that later). They then proceeded to try to make me comfortable. Ahhh, slipper-socks and two blankets. Wonderful!

My sitter asked if I wanted to watch TV. I wasn’t really in the mood, but didn’t mind if she wanted to watch something. I really wanted to reflect on the events of the past two days.

I felt tremendously stupid, which I guess was healthy. I couldn’t believe I was still alive. I realized there was no medical reason for me to still be drawing breath. I had taken enough caffeine powder to kill me several times over, yet I was alive, awake, and alert.

I had probably been laying there thinking for about 15-20 minutes when I received a surprise. My bishop and another member of my church had come to check on me. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the LDS leadership structure, the bishop can be most equated to a pastor in most other faiths. There is only one in charge of the local congregation.

How did he know I was in the hospital?? I remember the intake nurses asking if I had a religious affiliation, and I answered “LDS.. Mormon”. Perhaps they had contacted him? No, my mother had contacted him. Groan. While I knew I was going to have to talk to them about what had happened, I wasn’t expecting the wheels to move this quickly.

We exchanged small talk for a few minutes, then I asked for what we all knew I needed. “Would you mind giving me a blessing?” Once again, for those not of the LDS faith, holders of the priesthood are able to give blessings of comfort, of health, etc. They anointed my head with a few drops of consecrated oil and gave me a blessing. I still don’t remember what was said, but I remember that when they removed their hands from my head, my eyes were starting to tear up.

Before the Bishop left he asked if he had my permission to tell my parents about everything. At first I just wanted him to tell them about my chemical pneumonia, and I would talk to them about everything else. But after a couple of seconds I decided that I was tired of hiding things from my loved ones. Yeah, he could tell them everything.

Shortly after the Bishop left, I was served dinner. Salisbury steak, green beans, coffee, and pudding. Ugh. After my experience with the turkey sandwich, I knew this was the last thing I needed. My digestive system was in severe shock, and rich foods like this would just be asking for me to up-chuck again. I didn’t have any of it.

In the meantime, the nurses and doctors were visiting me. They put something in my IV to help with the nausea, as I was still spitting up bile from time to time. I watched a little TV, but mainly I was replaying the previous day in my head. I was feeling tremendously lucky to be alive. No, I decided, I wasn’t lucky. I was blessed.

You have to understand, I pride myself on being analytical. I like it when the peg fits in the hole. Everything must line up, nice and neat. This was none of those things. I SHOULD be dead. By all that’s right, I should have been a corpse.

Please understand, I’m not one to throw around a term like “miracle” lightly. But this was an honest to God, according to Hoyle Miracle. To quote Quentin Tarantino “God came down from heaven and stopped these motherfucking bullets.” I shot one hell of a bullet at myself, and I lived beyond.

These thoughts would probably have kept bouncing around in my head and kept me awake, but thankfully a nurse came in and asked if I’d like something to help me sleep. A wonderful idea. I gladly swallowed the pill she gave me. A short time later sweet merciful sleep took me.

Next Post: Stephen starts to heal and confirms to friends and family that he’s a moron.


Even after all I had been through, the thought of calling 9-1-1 scared me. Did I really need it?

I must have sat there in the kitchen for 10 minutes. Pick up the phone, dial 9-1-….. chicken out and hang up. Repeat a couple of times. I texted a friend and my parents “Very sick. Calling 911.” Finally I summoned my courage and dialed the third digit.

I had always thought that when someone called 9-1-1 that an operator was right there. Either I picked a bad day to call, or the reality was not what the TV makes it out to be. It must have rang 4-5 times before someone answered. I didn’t even hear what they said, either it was muffled or my hearing was going. I heard them stop talking and I gasped out (was that really my voice???) “I’m.. very.. sick. Need help…. passed out….”

The operator’s voice came into focus and I was able to confirm where I lived. They said help was on the way and told me to call back if anything changes. I hung up.

I was able to stumble to my room and grab my keys. By the time I got back to the kitchen I was able to see the ambulance and fire truck pulling up outside the house. I shuffled out the front door and locked it, then gingerly walked to the driveway before I collapsed/sat down, just in time to see the police cruiser pull up.

In total, I think it took 2 minutes from the time I hung up to when help arrived. Thumbs up for Lake County EMS. :)

The medical personnel were on me in a flash, taking blood pressure, pulse, respiration, etc. I think they were just viewing it initially as a bad case of food poisoning. Until I was able to gasp out “I… tried… to commit… suicide.. yesterday”. That got their attention very quickly. Before I knew it, I had an oxygen mask on my face and I was being helped on to a gurney. They loaded me into the back of the ambulance, got my information, stuck an IV into my arm, and we were off.

I remember during the trip the head medic kept telling me to slow my breathing down. I was trying, but it was hard to breath. All my vomiting in the past 24 hours had inflamed my throat and put a rather large lump in it, so I was gulping oxygen. Every couple of minutes he would caution me that my respiration was climbing again, and if I didn’t calm down, he would have to put a tube down my throat. It got so bad, I was THIS close to telling him to hell with it and tube me.

We arrived at the hospital and I was unloaded and wheeled into the emergency room. The ambulance crew helped me transfer on to a hospital gurney, told me to take better care of myself, and then set out for their next call.

I was left there in the hallway of the emergency room for what felt like hours, but probably was only 30-45 minutes. I wondered about the wisdom of leaving an admitted suicide risk unattended, but figured I was being monitored in some way I was unaware of. All I could do was lay there and beat myself up mentally. I felt so stupid.

I guess the emergency room crew was waiting for a bay to open up, because after 30-45 minutes I was then wheeled into a curtained partition in the emergency room proper. They once again took my information, gave me a hospital bracelet, and stuck the electrodes on my chest, belly, and left ankle. I was hooked up to a machine to monitor my heart, a pulse-oxygen meter, and was given oxygen via my nose.

For those of you who have never been on oxygen before, let me tell you something. The kind at the hospital STINGS! It’s not what’s in it, but what isn’t. It’s totally dry, which in turn dries your nostrils out, which then stings. So I thus began my game of have the oxygen on until I couldn’t bear the feeling of pins being shoved into it, take off the oxygen and breathe normally. When the nurse would come in she would see I’m not on oxygen, and “help” me put it back on. Rinse, lather, repeat.

I will admit, with some misplaced pride, that I probably confused the emergency room. Caffeine poisoning is not something you run across everyday. I imagine they were consulting the oracle of Google on what exactly the proper treatment would be in my case. They couldn’t pump my stomach, because too much time had passed, it wasn’t in my stomach anymore.

In the mean time, they kept pumping IV fluids into me. They needed a urine sample, but my body was so out of whack that I had absolutely no feeling of needing to “go”. After two IV bags went in, they gave me an ultimatum. I needed to provide a urine sample very soon, or they would “cath” me.

So I was left in bed with a urinal and I kept whipping out my dick, willing it to squeeze out a couple of ounces of pee. Nothing. I briefly considered refusing and signing out AMA (Against Medical Advice) to avoid being cath’ed. =/

I thought I had gotten a reprieve when the radiologist came and wheeled me in for a chest x-ray. Chest x-ray for a poisoning? I figured the hospital was just being safe. Either that or they were padding the bill. But, it bought me some extra time to try to produce urine. My chest was x-rayed from the side and back, then I was helped back into bed and wheeled back to my curtained off “room”.

The nurse was waiting for me. She gave me one more chance to naturally produce a sample. Alas, my bladder did not want to coöperate. She decided to go in for it.

Now, I’m going to state it here and now. Having a strange woman handling your junk is scary enough. If that same woman wants to then shove a tube into it? Yeah, my heart was really racing at that point, and not just from the caffeine.

She tried to numb me up, I know she did, but there is absolutely no amount of topical Novocaine that will dull this feeling. The best way to describe it is to imagine a baseball bat being shoved into your pee-hole. You feel it the entire length up. It HURTS. It’s a whole new type of pain. There is no way to adequately describe it, you have to experience it. But I’m praying none of you will. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

Then I have to wait, enduring the pain while they tap my bladder and drain it. Ugh.

Finally they tapped the keg for as much as it would hold. I’d love to tell you all was roses then, but it hurts ALMOST as much coming out as going in.

Afterward the doctor came in and told me that I had a chemical pneumonia, and they were admitting me. This came as a surprise, as I was thinking they were just going to shuffle me off to the loony bin and be done with me. But I wasn’t one to argue, else they find another hole to shove a catheter up. =/

They were just waiting for shift change to bring me up to my room, because I required a nanny to watch me and make sure I didn’t hurt myself again.

Next Post: I’m either in Medlab, or in Hell. Either way, the decor needs work.


(My memory of this night is spotty, but I’ll try to describe it as best I can)

I probably slept for an hour, at most. It took that long for my body to climb the hill for the roller coaster ride that would be the next 24 hours.

When I awoke, I discovered that nausea had come to sit by my bedside. Time to run to the bathroom!

I painfully discovered something they don’t tell you often. Excessive caffeine is a laxative. For those of you not in the know, I will tell you that there is nothing that will humble you as fast as crapping your pants while you vomit. =/

After cleaning myself up and changing shorts, I decided maybe I shouldn’t be quite that far from the toilet for the time being. I sat on my porcelain throne while waiting for the next wave to hit. It didn’t take long. I grabbed the trash can and heaved into it.

I must have sat there for a good 30 minutes, alternating expelling into the toilet and into the trash can. Finally I felt well enough to depart from my little kingdom to head back to bed.

I wasn’t able to fall asleep, and soon enough my stomach started to rumble. I ran to the bathroom where I emptied my stomach into the sink. Thankfully the diarrhea had stopped. I cleaned up again and headed back to my bedroom.

Around 6pm I also started having uncontrollable twitches. Some of them were pretty violent. I’ve never been prone to seizures, but that’s the only term I can find to describe them. They were violent enough to me to completely strip my fitted sheet and mattress pad off the bed. For most of the night I tried to sleep on a bare mattress. Tried to sleep is the key term.

Obviously I didn’t time every time I vomited, but it felt like I would be heaving about every 20-30 minutes. For almost the entire night. It didn’t matter how much I threw up, my body kept finding more liquid to expel. Around 10pm (12 hours after taking my death drink), my brain started to click into gear that, between the earlier diarrhea and this upchucking , I was rapidly losing liquids. I then decided that after every time I vomited I would cup my hand and take handfuls of water from the tap.

It’s also around that time that I developed a new symptom, thick brown streaks started appearing in my vomit. Now, I’m not a doctor, but I know a little of anatomy. The fact that it was brown concerned me. If it was red, I could have just said it was in my throat. However, brown or black usually indicates digested or partially digested blood. I’ve since learned that I had developed Mallory-Weiss syndrome.

Around 2am, after an especially violent retching, became overheated and tried to sleep on the cool tile of the bathroom. It didn’t work. I still twitched and couldn’t fall asleep. I figured if I was going to be awake, I might as well be in my bed.

Around this time I started abandoning the handfuls of water for a glass which I could get more liquid into. Cold water with ice was wonderfully refreshing.

Around 4am the twitching finally stopped. I tried to fall asleep, but was still unable to. Around 6am the vomiting also ceased. I viewed this as a blessing. Maybe I was over the worst of it?

I slowly watched the darkness ebb from my window. I decided that I would wait until 8am to get up, trying to save my strength. The morning couldn’t come fast enough. Gradually it became lighter outside, and still I waited for the clock to strike 8am.

Finally the appointed hour arrived. I got up, and then collapsed back into bed. All my strength had left me. I figured I’d try again in 30 minutes. The scene was repeated at 8:30, then 9am.

Eventually I willed myself out of bed to feed the cats. There was no reason for them to suffer for my stupidity.

Feeding the cats was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do. For someone who’s totally spent, even popping the top to a can of cat food is a challenge. Couple that with having to then bend down to place the bowl on the floor? My head was already swimming, and I almost crashed into the cabinet during that maneuver.

While I sat and watched the cats eat, I considered maybe 9-1-1 might be in order, but I was still too brave. I realized I hadn’t had anything to eat in over 24 hours. Along with all the vomiting, I figured my electrolytes had to be out of whack. I stumbled to the pantry, looking for something simple, like chicken noodle soup. Nothing. Lots of creamy soups, but I knew that dairy was the last thing I needed in my state.

I eventually chose a stack of crackers, figuring they were gentle enough and the salt would do me good. I put one in my mouth and started to chew. It’s then that I realized I wasn’t producing any saliva. This was bad. Taking a drink of water was enough to soften the cracker to get it down. It still hurt like a bitch going down though.

I picked up the phone and started to dial. 9-1…. no, I could get through this. I just needed to be gentle. My body could recover. I hung up and went to the bathroom.

I don’t remember what happened there. I lost about half an hour, I just remember the next time I was aware of anything, the clock read shortly before 10am.

Ok, this wasn’t good. Did I just pass out??? It was this event that just put the cap on the entire episode. I knew I wasn’t going to get any better by myself.

I stumbled to the kitchen, trying to get to the phone in time.

Next Post: Stephen reaches out for help.


So I had the caffeine powder. My parents were going out-of-town to attend my nephew’s college graduation, than to deal with a medical problem with my grandfather (my brother-in-law also got sick during this time).

I provided a list of what food I would like the house stocked with, knowing I would only get through half of it at most before my end. I know it’s strange to think of these small things, but I needed to keep up appearances.

The morning of their departure I was very nervous. I didn’t want to give off any clue of what I was planning. I knew that if they suspected anything amiss, it would cause them to delay or cancel their trip. I tried to play everything down, but I was deathly (HA!) afraid I would betray my intent. Finally the van was packed, I gave them each a hug, and watched them drive away. A heavy weight came upon me when I thought I was seeing them for the last time.

Once they were safely away, I started putting my plan into action. I got my caffeine powder out and put it into another plastic container. I had heard it was really bitter stuff, but I needed to find out exactly how bitter we were talking about. I licked the tip of my pinky and put it into the powder, then touched it to my tongue.

YOWZERS! For those of you not in the know, caffeine is THE standard by which bitterness is measured. Incredibly vile and bitter stuff. I realized my original idea of just mixing it into a glass of tap water would be impossible. I would have to find a way to make it more palatable. I headed out to the grocery store.

My mission was to find a liquid sweet enough to mask the pure bitterness of the caffeine powder. I eventually settled on either Naked juice “Green Machine” or POM Pomegranate-Cherry juice. I bought both and considered. The caffeine powder would probably not mix totally, so I figured if it was placed in the Pomegranate juice it would just settle at the bottom. Naked juice was thicker, so it wouldn’t settle out. It was decided to be the vehicle for my overdose.

I didn’t mix up the concoction right away. I went to my computer and started writing my note. The “limitless options” password post? Yeah, guess what that is? (I considered deleting it, but it gives me a good glimpse back to how hopeless I felt at the time. It helps keep me on the path.)

It took two days to write the note. I went through so many revisions it’s crazy. I was hoping to get just the right feeling in it. Comforting those I left behind, while at the same time accusing those I felt were forcing me to take this choice of action. I’m nothing if not melodramatic. ;)

Finally it was done. I saved it to the blog and post-dated it to go live the following Monday. Then went to the kitchen to mix up my death drink. The recommended maximum daily dose for a man of my size and weight was 1/20th of a teaspoon. I measured out 4 tablespoons and shook the bottle to mix. I then stuck it back in the fridge and went about my normal routine of playing World of Warcraft.

Can you see the dichotomy here? I was going out of my way to not give off ANY indication of what I was planning.

I set my clock early for the following day, I needed a little extra time than normal. I showered, shaved, and dressed. The only exception was that I wrote “DNR” (which stands for “Do Not Resuscitate”) on each breast and on my belly. I didn’t want any heroic means taken to bring me back from where I was going.

I grabbed the bottle and headed to church.

Yes, church. My plan was to drink the stuff on the way to church, sit in the back of the congregation, pass out, and die. This way someone would assume I had fallen asleep, come up me to tell me it’s time for the next meeting, find themselves unable to wake me, at which point the alarm would be raised. Coupled with my “DNR”, even if they got me to a hospital in time, the doctors would be afraid to take any action to bring me back, for fear of legal liability.

So I got halfway to church when I took my first sip. BLEH! It was still putrid! No more of that stuff while I was driving!

Once I got to church I went into a restroom, held my nose, and chugged several gulps. Not the entire bottle, but a good three-quarters of it. I realized at this moment the die was cast. I rinsed out the bottle (to avoid them knowing what I took) and took my seat at the back of the chapel.

It hit me like a Mac truck very quickly. Within 5-10 minutes I developed tunnel-vision. No nausea, but I was definitely feeling funny. I quickly realized this wasn’t what the internet had promised me. I ran to the bathroom to stick my fingers down my throat.

Nothing would come up. Maybe a little spittle, but my body was holding tight to the poison. I started to rationalize that since I didn’t take ALL of what I intended, maybe I could just ride it through. I grabbed my keys and headed out. One member asked “We losing you Steve?”. If they only knew. All I could reply was “Yeah, I’m not feeling well.”

Understatement of the year.

Driving home was probably the worst thing I could have done. By this time my head was swimming and I was getting very sleepy. The killer thing is that I passed by a hospital on my way home. If I had only turned in, I would have saved myself a fate worse than death. But I was trying to be brave, and I REALLY didn’t want my stomach pumped.

By a miracle I made it home safely, and even parked the car in the garage straight. I had enough strength to log into my blog and set the suicide note to not go live.

After that, I collapsed on to my bed. I was hoping that once I was home I could just “sleep it off”.

Ugh, if I only knew what fate had in store for me. =/

Next Post: The Very Long Night of Stephen.


(Grrr… ecto ate my last post. Lemme see if I can recreate it)

(Also, I hope, once you start reading, you will understand why I have chosen to make these posts in small, bite-size installments. It’s difficult to write about this.)

For those of you who have been following this blog, you know that I’ve battled some pretty dark demons for a while now. There have been situations in my life that I’m not happy about, and things happening that I feel powerless to change.

It was because of this, and a few other reasons I won’t talk about, that I decided to end my life. As you can tell it wasn’t successful, but I felt I need to get these thoughts out in the open. Hopefully it will also stand as a warning to others who feel the same way.

First, know that this was not a spur of the moment decision. I had thought and planned out how to end my life. I had gathered the implements of my hoped destruction weeks, sometimes months, in advance. In most respects I am impulsive, this was methodical and exacting.

How to bring my life to an end was, of course, the primary focus. Out of a myriad of ways, I had narrowed the options down to three possible ways.

First I thought of simply unbuckling my seat belt while driving and just plowing into either a guard-rail or tree. This appealed because it would probably be quick and relatively pain-less. I eventually ruled it out when I realized the margin of either ending up a vegetable or paralyzed was too high.

Second I considered the typical hanging scenario. I really considered this one, to the extent of fashioning a noose. I hope no one ever has to experience it, but I can tell you it’s a weird feeling standing in a home-improvement store trying to pick out which rope to hang yourself with. What type of rope would support my weight? What type was flexible enough to actually tie into a hangman’s noose. Which material wouldn’t chafe my skin?

Yes, I actually picked out a type of rope that would make a comfortable hangman’s noose, as if there could be such a thing. I think this tells you how clear I was thinking at the time. =/

Eventually I eliminated hanging myself because I couldn’t be sure of how to do it to ensure my neck snapped cleanly versus dying by asphyxiation. I also didn’t want my family to come home and find me hanging by the rafters.

I finally decided upon a caffeine overdose. From what I had read, an overdose of caffeine SHOULD make me pass out. While I was passed out, it should then make my heart go into ventricular fibrillation. In effect, give me a heart attack while I was unconscious. A quick, painless death. Sounded exactly like the way to go.

I ordered the caffeine powder (which is the most rapid absorption versus pills or massive amounts of soda/coffee) on October 8th, 2011. It’s amazing what you can find on Amazon, isn’t it? I was surprised at how little this implement of destruction cost. Ten dollars to end my life.

Then all I had to do was wait for an opportunity to put my plan into action. All too soon, I saw my chance. My family would be going out-of-town shortly before Christmas. I would be alone.

I was ready to put my plan into action.

Next Post: I become the heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Idiots.



So a thought occurred to me.

  1. Every yeah, millions of homes are invaded by an elderly man. The sheer volume of cases of breaking and entering would choke the entire judicial system if they were tried individually.
  2. We encourage this unlawful behavior by leaving tempting treats out for this man, who has a legendary sweet tooth.
  3. Annually we go out of our way to seek down this fat man. When we find him, do we have him arrested? No. We ask our children to sit in his lap!
  4. Justifiably, some children are terrified to be around such a hardened criminal. We insist they do it anyway, even over their express displeasure.
  5. Almost invariably, we pay a stranger to take photos of our children sitting in this lecherous man’s lap. We then save these pictures for them to remember the occasion once they have grown up. We also share these photos with friends and family members.
All of this is done under the blanket of “wholesome, traditional, family values”…. Am I the only one who see’s something wrong with this picture?

The meaning behind the title to my previous post can be found in the lyrics to the David Byrne song “Now I’m Your Mom”.

He is a boy
You are a girl
And you will always stay that way
But there are people
In this world
Who’d like to change what nature made

And if you take that decision
Then they will make that incision – down below

The birds and the bees
Are singin’ for me
And this is the song I heard them singin’
Goin’ tweedle dee dee
Tweedle dee dee
But I never heard a word they’re tellin’ me

Oh little girl
Please understand
And listen to the words I say
I was your dad
Now I’m your mom
I hope you’ll comprehend someday

I didn’t mean to confuse you
And now I know that it’s hard to understand

The birds and the bees
Are singin’ for me
But I never heard a word they’re sayin’
Goin’ tweedle dee dee
Tweedle dee dee
Freedom of choice is what they’re bringin’

And when Columbus sailed
Upon that mighty sea
Well, we are just like him
Yes, we are pioneers

Into the great unknown
The wild uncharted lands
There ain’t no turning back
Ain’t gonna be no chains on me

Who would ever believe
Caterpillars like me
Turning into a butterfly
Well, I was suddenly free

The birds and the bees
Are singin’ for me
And this is the song I heard them singin’
Tweedle dee dee
Tweedle dee dee
Freedom of choice is what they’re bringin’

You know I’m man enough
Ain’t gonna run and hide
My love is mighty tough
My love is mighty wild

I got a pair o’ wings
And I’m gonna fly away
Too late to turn back now
Tomorrow came today – for me


Let’s see if we can keep this straight (no pun intended):

I was going through the friends list of the sister of a friend I have lost touch with many years ago. Chris and I used to be the best of friends. He was the best man at my wedding, I spent many a night at his home as a teen. Hell, his parents even nicknamed me “point 5” (from every family had 2.5 children). I even developed a crush on his sister at one point.

On a side note, I think their parents were secretly hoping she and I would end up together so I could really be another son to them.

Anyway, when I moved to Indiana to be with Jennifer, Chris and I lost touch. I don’t blame him. I kinda just up and left and didn’t give him the chance for the normal friends “won’t see each other for a long time, so let’s hang out to all hours of the night” thing. Looking back on it, I really fucked up in that regard.

Over the last 10 years I’ve written him a couple times to apologize for my oversight, and pretty much begging him to forgive my thoughtless actions. All letters have met with no reply. Obviously Chris was holding a grudge.

I had pretty much given up all hope.

Fast forward to tonight. I’m looking over Deirdre’s facebook profile, looking over her friends and family, when a face catches my eye.

It looks very much like my friend. Only Chris now has long hair, wears lipstick, and goes by the name of “Christine”.

On one hand, I’m insanely sorry that I didn’t know she was unhappy. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to help her through what must have taken a lot of guts to do. I’m sorry she must have thought that I wouldn’t support her decision.

Maybe this is why my friend wouldn’t talk to me for the last decade. I don’t know.

I just know I miss my friend.

Listened to: Now I’m Your Mom from the album “Uh-Oh” by David Byrne

I started out at the age of 8 with a clone of the Apple IIe (a Franklin 2200 to be exact). It served our family well into my early teens, when dad bought a 286 machine with a 40MB Hard Drive. It came out of the blue. I imagine he bought it on a whim. I’m not exactly sure mom was too happy with him.

But I loved it. Gone were the days of amber and black. Full color! Games! YES!!!

Dad partitioned off 10MB of the hard drive for me and my games. I quickly filled it up and started placing excess programs on “his part of the drive”. Around this time I also discovered BBS’s (Bulletin Board Systems). Thus began my descent into madness.

They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Soon I decided that I wanted to run a BBS, something I would need my own phone line and computer for. I bought a 486 machine and started to build my venture, The House by the Lake BBS. *insert cackle and rubbing of hands together*

(Ten points for your respective house if you get the reference)

All was well in my little world. I had a computer, some friends, and my little digital kingdom. Then a girl happened.

She was in Florida, I was in Pennsylvania. We spoke for hours almost every night. Do the math. Within 2-3 months I had racked up such a huge phone bill that I had to disconnect my line. The lake was drained and the house torn down.

Oh, and the girl? Yeah, that’s a post for another time. BIG story there.


Oh. My. God.

This made my day.



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