The Conversion

I was in the bathroom of an airplane, crying. The Valium had not kicked in, would not kick in, because I'd been stubborn and taken it too late, and once I've started to panic, no pill in the world can fix me. I knew my doom, and I knew it was me, my palpitations and aneurisms, the excruciating awareness of being alive, fragile, terrified, a statistical improbability on an indifferent rock in an unknowable universe. My heart fighting through my chest. Dying of fright. Dying of mortification, of regret, such regret! Such a short, stupid life, and wasted! Wasted on things like watching TV and holding grudges when the only thing in life, the single only thing in life that matters is being good and giving love, and why have I not devoted myself to this? Why do I not apply myself, every second of every day, to that which is most profound to me? And how can I not die, how can I stand to live with myself, knowing as I do that as soon as I get off this airplane I will stride through the airport and get in a taxi and forget this? 

Comments

[erin]

I think you should write a sequal to girlbomb!

[luckydave]

!!!

[Satia]

Erin, I think she has.

Janice, I agree with Luckydave.

I didn't know what to expect from the title. Surely not Janice, converted? Then I read and read again because I had to read it a second time just to breathe.

Wow.

[Janice]

Thanks, guys!!!

!!!

[heather]

great and captivating...what an experience

[Stana]

Brilliance! And, as usual, I can so relate.