I call my father. My life is threatened! I am in a more precarious state then if a gun were kissing my gut! Over the phone I exclaim, "It's, worsethanthe, lasttime!"... " "... It seems the urgency of the situation is only recognized in the breath from my lips. The receiver picks up the anxious tones in my voice and rearranges them as they are transmitted so they don't seem as urgent because all I hear in response is indifference in the form of silence. My cheeks heat up and I begin to cry, the hushed tears help to calm me just a little. I wipe my eyes rubbing a little bit of salt in the wound. No one gets that I am sick and slowly dying with any moment being my last. finally my father's weary voice suggests, "maybe you just need to use the bathroom." " Oh, such merciless insensitivity!" I accuse him of in my mind; a click sounds and is resonated by an empty hum. He hung up. I take a moment to pity myself. After a few more centuries of writhing in pain I concede and decide to give it a try. I walk down the hall, bare feet plodding the floor. I open the bathroom door and assume the hover position. My butt cheeks quiver with the anticipation of sitting on a cold toilet seat; my cheeks are cooled, then... relief!
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