what is the word

Sometimes, on bleak mornings when I've had far too much to drink the previous evening, it makes me feel better to imagine good ways of annihilating myself. They aren't realistic, & I'm not actually going to carry them out, but they're reassuring thoughts for some reason. One good way I think would be if I could be rolled up very tightly into a ball, put inside a big paper bag and then smashed with a giant mallet. That's the kind of pain I think might be a relief. & the paper bag is indispensible for some reason. But, tho neatly violent, the plan doesn't go nearly far enough in destroying all evidence of me.

To that end I like to imagine I would jump from a great height into an enormous fan-like contraption, with millions of tremendously sharp metal blades whirring along incredibly fast. It wouldn't hurt because of how instantaneous it would be, but it would be satisfying because it would turn me into pieces smaller than corn flakes.

I had assumed I was the only one having these crazy thoughts but one day a character in a book said something that could have come straight from my hungover head. It was in Vox by Nicholson Baker, which by the way was just okay. Anyway the woman in the book wished she could be one of those birds that gets sucked into the jet engine of a plane & ejected again in a long clean stream of blood. It went something like that. It sounded beautiful & for me it hit the feeling right on the head.
Anyway. Wow. I am hungover.

posted by kat  # 7:17 PM