i'm killing myself

my pulmonologist told me today to stop smoking.
the funny thing is, i don't smoke.

he doesn't like how my lungs look, and i had to fight the urge to fire back "well i don't like how you look." i may have honed my internal social controls to prevent me from acting upon them but it doesn't mean i'm not thinking it.

i'm a 14 year old boy trapped inside a 24 year old girl's body. i think about sex 800 times a minute, i eat whatever i want, wish i was skinnier but refuse to do anything about it because food rules and diets drool. for the most part i think girls are icky, i don't shower every day, i would rather blow shit up than scrapbook, i like my music loud, my life fast. what did famous say? live fast die fun? only my definition of living fast is working a 13 hour case instead of studying for a test, driving to reno in a snowstorm instead of staying home to celebrate easter, owning an australian cattle dog in a city.

working with dead people for a living doesn't make you appreciate life like you think it might. working with dead people makes you despise anyone who weighs more than 200lbs, anyone who lacks personal hygiene, anyone who decides to kick the bucket on your day off.

death happens. and it's not beautiful, it's not dignified, it's not horrible, it's not scary. i've never seen a dead person with a look of peace on their face just like i've never seen a dead person with an expression of complete terror.
and as much as you love your god, your belief system, your karma, your philosophy, what i can tell you for sure is this:
when you die, you look like everyone else. you are put into a unionall (body bag), you are put in the morgue, you await transportation to a funeral home. sometimes you have a toe tag, sometimes it's attached to your finger, sometimes it's attached to the zipper on the bag. you ARE NOT laying in a bed a roses, signifying your status as a god-fearing do-gooder. you ARE NOT engulfed in flames, showing the world that you were a huge piece of shit. a rapist and mother teresa look the same when they're dead. the sooner you realize that you're the same as everyone else in death, the sooner you'll realize that you're the same as everyone else in life. we're all here for a reason- because an egg and sperm had a party, and for no other reason. sometimes the sperm partied hard so there's two of you, maybe even three or four or eight.

my philosophy: we all started out partying, so we should all die partying- whatever your definition of partying may be.