Israel Daramola

Someday we’ll all be dead. Nothing makes you think about this more than having a disease. I was born with sickle cell anemia and, while my flare-ups or “crisis” thankfully don’t happen often, when they do happen it’s always hard to deal with. I spent yesterday in the emergency room and have been spending today on the “hard stuff”–percocet–while taking naps and waiting for another Mad Men about existential crisis’s or whatever the hell to come on. I’m looking at this post and seeing all the grammatical errors I’m making and just thinking “fuck it who cares”. I’ve probably thought about my own death 5 times a minute which is 3 more than usual. I’m currently wondering how long it would take for my body to be found if I kicked it right now. My guess would be about a week, but I’m not confident.  The Miami heat won the nba title on Thursday and I’m pretty convinced that had something to do with why this is happening to me right now– seriously the red wedding of basketball games.

I realize I’m babbling but fuck it I paid for the domain so I’ll do what I feel. I’m hungry but I’m also tired. The meds just kicked in so I’m feeling a little better, also there’s an ice cream sandwich in the fridge that I should totally go eat. I don’t even remember why I chose to write this or when I started writing it. Whatever, it doesn’t really matter.