Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. When it comes to the topic of suicide, most people don't want to think about it, and then there are those who, from time to time, just can't help it. As that person, I know this. We must be open to listening, even if it makes us uncomfortable. We must avoid telling people how selfish it would make them--if they're considering suicide, their self-esteem is low enough. We must take the threat serious, always. Here is a morbid rhyme from a very dark time.
THE DAY I COMMITTED SUICIDE
A luxury bestowed on humankind.
The ultimate way to relax and unwind.
It's just a step through that peaceful portal,
To enjoy the bliss of being mortal.
I always knew I would...
When life became more pain than good,
More work than play...
Still...I wasn't certain on that day,
There was a chance that I would stay,
In this world for a year or two more,
If I could find something worth living for.
So...I watched out the window and waited.
For what…I know not.
Perhaps a Pied Piper, brawny and blonde,
Who'd carry me away to Walden Pond,
Or Avenue A in Alphabet City...
Really, any place pretty or gritty...would do.
As long as I could be,
Anyone but me...
Once I got there.
Come afternoon, I evaluate my life,
Great guest, good friend, decent wife,
Who wrote some books, some poems, some plays,
Filmed a bio-pic about me and my gays
For men or money, there was never a lack,
My drinking kept Maker's Mark in the black.
I threw a flawless party every holiday season...
But was any of this a good enough reason?
To justify that I remain,
On this mundane, mortal plane...
I closed one heavy eye and clearly heard the cry,
"Hokahey, hokahey...today is a good day to die!"
Then, let's do it...
First, I wrote my suicide note...
Making sure it was calm and witty, not beleaguered by neurosis
I went to the keyboard and typed, "Bet you thought it'd be cirrhosis."
Assuming an autopsy, I decide to do my part,
By amusing the coroners with a surreal work of art,
With stomach contents consumed to please:
Gummy worms, pop rocks, and camembert cheese,
A picture of Ben Franklin and a pink Barbie shoe,
And a Scrabble tile with the letter "Q"...
For Quincy, MD, everyone's favorite medical examiner.
Next, to the closet to choose my shroud,
Something sophisticated, not too loud.
It must be classic, not trendy or lewd,
For, I may have to wear it through infinitude.
"Just pick something, Donna, you must OD soon."
I opt for a vintage caftan by Georgie Keyloun.
I bathe, dress, and grab some festive pills.
After Googling and oogling at what best kills,
I've carefully chosen Seconal to set me free,
If it was good enough for Garland, then it's good enough for me.
I swallow thirteen, though ten would suffice
And wash it down with a bourbon on ice.
With book and bottle, I take to the bed,
To drink and read Dr. Seuss 'til I'm dead.
I almost bought Egyptian cotton on which to take my final breath,
But just couldn't bear to waste a thousand thread count on death.
Take a shot and read a rhyme...take a shot and read a rhyme.
I do this time after time after time after time,
Until the drowsies come upon me half way through The Lorax.
Outside, the rain begins to fall,
Ambian from heaven...
And that's the last thing I recall.
There is no happy ending to this verse.
No twist, no turn,
No lesson to learn...
The day I committed suicide
Was quite simply, the day I died.
I must admit, out of all God’s creatures, my least favorite has always been birds. Probably because my Granny Ison had a coop full of the meanest frickin’ chickens in history. My theory is that her hen house was some portal from hell and those fowl were its demon guardians. I swear their eyes glowed red. They led to a reoccurring nightmare about being mauled by giant chickens. Killer poultry also make an appearance in The Miracle of Myrtle: Saint Gone Wild.
My dislike subsided soon after we moved to Bohemian Bay where we have all the cool varieties including blue heron, cormorants, mallards, wood ducks, red-headed woodpeckers, loons, hawks, and hummingbirds. I know their names because, after tiring of me making up monikers like the “Too-Good-to-Talk-to-Me-Even Though-I-Know-It-Can” and “Long-Necked Hateful Duck,” a friend gave me the National Audubon Societies’ Field Guide to Birds.
This summer, I have become obsessed with hummingbirds. I have two feeders that I watch like they are Prince in concert or a Criminal Minds marathon.
Here are some of the facts I’ve learned about the Trochilidae.
1 Cup Sugar
4 Cups Water
Bring to a boil, simmer until sugar melts, stirring constantly.
Cool down to room temperature.
Fill your feeder and hang it in a shady spot. Direct sunlight makes the nectar ferment faster. Then, just wait for the winged magic.
And here is the saddest fact of all…hummingbirds are migratory, so come fall we must say good-bye. When the temperature drops, you should take your feeder down, so the precious little things don’t get confused and stay around too long. Farewell, my little feather friends.
Now, I guess I better get to work on my Sasquatch feeder for the winter.
the bourbonistA, Promoting Debauchery and stamping out political-correctness one blog at a time.