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dad gave me the wrong date- not flying out this morning... these last minute changes bother me. i'm racing against time here.

death death death death death death death death death that's all i've been thinking about lately. death. not specifically limited to suicide, per se; just... death.

why does my grandpa keep asking where i am and how i'm doing? he didn't do this in the past- but he vegetates on the hospital bed, sleeping 1/2 the time and being tube fed, why is it that the first thing he does when he sees a family member is inquire about me? i was never very close to this grandpa.

what was mom saying exactly when i was slipping in and out of consciousness in march '07? i remember her hunched over my hospital bedside, crying, and the words "i'm sorry you had to see that, i shouldn't have (blablabla)". i know i deliberately closed my eyes bc i was afraid to hear whatever she was attempting to confess/apologize for. was it not protecting me from that sick bastard, or behaving like a teenager and throwing fake suicide episodes/tantrums, or talking to the adults in my family ab how unhappy she was about how fat i was becoming through this puberty stage without realizing i was listening to the entire discussion while washing the dishes?

what makes me crush aspirin and swallow them quickly when i get the chest pains? in these unpredictable moments, i'm certainly confused. frantic... my jaws definitely ache. my arm definitely start to go numb. i'm scared shitless... and i take more aspirin. i can't get myself to call 911. instead, i foolishly find myself re-organizing what seems to be out of place in my apartment, just incase i die in the next three minutes and strangers and/or my parents come here. is it because i'm still on that limbo? should i be proud of myself for taking ibuprofen, at least, or should i be running in some direction for more help?! bc as of now, i'd rather crush my phone and swallow that as well than to actually call 911? will i be able to later?

every story i read, i think to myself "i wish it were me". iranian musavi (i think )'s son's death. i wish it were me. the minister that was shot in south chicago on christmas eve while getting food out from the trunk. i wish it were me. if my plane was to be hijacked by terrorists and someone had to be a living sacrifice. i wish it were me. yada yada. if opportunity arises, i wish it were me.