It has been seventy-two hours since I’ve last ingested poppy seeds. My gut is now crawling with untamable sensation and I cannot leave the proximity of a bathroom. I don’t know what one ought to do, medically. It seems my digestive system is working somewhat at random, with no affinity for the retaining of nutrients– but I’m not a doctor.
Today I have an exam on population modeling. I am obviously contemplating the logistics of my absence. My body is simply too unpredictable at this time. My back, above my tailbone, to either side, seems to vibrate in five minutes intervals. In one hour I would be unsurprised if nausea began its course.
I’ve been fortunate in my life to be graced with good parents, a kind brother, beautiful friends, the ability to read and write… When I look back on my life it is the solitude that stands out most vividly however. Endlessly entertaining solitude. Throughout my childhood I took great pleasure in painting and reading by myself. I cannot help but believe that this habit predicts my demise.
It would be a great shame if one were to be discovered several hours or days after death, strewed gangly in a pool of their own excrement. Rotten, sick excrement. Sour tan. The result of Polish pastries, no impulse control, and a freak reaction to the reproductive units of a flower.
If this is to be my fate I accept it with an overarching gratefulness to the live I’ve predominantly masturbated. Although it would be sad to end life so short, one must not ignore the common knowledge of children dying by the masses in post-colonial states, from widely treatable pathogens and maladies and what not. “Every thirty seconds a child dies from malaria.” It is the pain imbedded by these conditions which I find so appalling. Physical pain, so often obscure in its source, unlike combat or old-fashioned violence.
What a strange world we’ve all been subjected to. Centuries after the European exodus, decades after the abolishment of overt slavery… Tourism, recreational flight, plastic islands, Matthew Mcconaughey… It’s all so strange.
If I could have any wish after my death (which is an equally strange tradition but seemingly commendable) it would be for humans to breed in the spirit of genetic diversity and mindfulness of their limited resources.
Kara E. Crabb.