“Don’t take too much of that cough mixture I got you the other day. My boss told me that there is some kind of drug in that so you shouldn’t take too much.”
I’ve managed to get out of the apartment and down to my boyfriend’s old job to have dinner with my boyfriend and my parents. My mother is sitting across the table, neatly folding her napkin to the side. She works in a hospital so her boss is an M.D which inclines me to take her serious.
“Define too much,” I say.
The other night my boyfriend looked at me through a haze of exhaustion while I searched for my lungs somewhere on the floor next to the bed. In lack of a measurement cup I had taken a glass and felt that I already taken more than the bottle required just before I went to bed. Now it felt like it had been less.
“Sweety, I love you but if don’t stop coughing there will be consequences,” my boyfriend informs me and sits up.
I nod like there is a silent agreement that the consequences would mean that under these circumstances it would be OK for him to suffocate me with a pillow. I would understand. I can’t stand this myself. So I go out to the kitchen and have another go at my medicine. Better fill it up this time...
The last thing I remember is the feeling of my head against the pillow. I can’t move, my head is stuck to the pillow. The good news is that I no longer feel the need to cough but I am sure that if I fall asleep it will be the last thing I ever do. I accept these facts and think that if I’m gonna fall in to a coma I better think of something nice just in case I get stuck with my thoughts too. So I think of something nice and then I pass out.
In retrospect, I think I’ve already defined too much.
2 kommentarer:
You thought of something nice did ya? ;)
Pasta and coffee my friend. Pasta and coffee.
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