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June 10, 2002 blindsided The divorce came, painful and quiet, like death from a slit throat.  Except I didn't die, I only wanted to. There are impediments to my suicide.  For one, I am squeamish;  for another, I want the children to enjoy my life insurance benefits and the policy excludes coverage for suicide.  So my death must be peaceful and "accidental." I tried to have an "accident" playing with a plastic dry-cleaning bag.  Although I failed to accomplish self-murder, I was mistaken for a garment and thrown into the back of a delivery van.  The cleaners crushed the buttons on my shirt while I was wearing it. I prepared breakfast balancing my electric appliances on the edge of the bathtub.  While sitting in a tub full of water, I made toast in a toaster, cooked bacon in an electric skillet, and brewed coffee in an automatic coffee-maker.  All I got for my efforts was a hearty breakfast. I finally collapsed under the weight of mounting failures.  I cried my eyes out and, in an effort to relocate them to their sockets, I stepped on what I think was the right one.  The doctor supplied me with a matching marble eye--"Bloodshot Hazel," they call it.  It may work out for the best.  I might get blindsided driving to work.

©  2002 by the beastmaster