Pisaries Creator

I woke up so disgusted with myself. I couldn't stand to look in the mirror in the tiny bathroom I rented alongside the tiny bedroom I also rented each month. The owner of the apartment complex was this eccentric lady from somewhere in the Orient. I know this isn't the proper term to refer to Asia but I'm of old stock. I don't refer to Asians as Asians. They are Oriental to me. Call me racist. I don't care. I'm too old to care. I don't see them as rugs. I see them as human beings. They have two eyes like most other human beings. I've never seen an Oriental with one eye. Besides, it will sound weird if I refer to them as a cyclops. I mean their eyes aren't round unless they've had eyelid surgery nor are they tall like a cyclops. Besides, the cyclops to my knowledge is fictional. There are some that talk about a third eye in humans, reserved for intuitional purposes, and for most of us, that too is fictional.

Orientals or anyone with one eye that's a human being is referred to as monophthalmia. A human being that has lost one eye is referred to as anophthalmia. These people have monocular vision. However, I have two eyes, and they are not circles but neither are they so thin that when I smile, you don't see my pupils. In the past years, I had an apartment manager that spoke with a heavy German accent. I called her der Führerin. I didn't feel any guilt. As a man, she deserved it 100%. She was the female version of Hitler. While I doubt, she had dreams of gassing me, I wouldn't put it past her to rip my necklace off as she walked past my corpse. 

On that day when I couldn't stand to look at my face in the dirty mirror, I heard my friend call my name behind me. I turned and saw an expression of doubt.
"You obviously don't know what day this is?"
"When I looked at my watch, it said terrible Tuesday."
"No, you dummy. It's the first day of fall. Didn't you notice the leaves turning on your way to and from work?"
"Whoop dee do," I said and forced a tiny jump to note my sarcasm. For emphasis I continued in a mocking tone, "You know I don't give a shit about this."
"A girl can dream."
"You're a 35-year-old woman. You should've stopped dreaming five years ago."
"You can rain on my parade all you want. My umbrella is too big for me to get wet." 
I rolled my eyes. 
"I saw that!"
"Good," I said. 
"I can't believe what you waste your time on. It wouldn't hurt you to go outside once in a while instead of being a shut in. Why don't you come with me to the show tonight? It'll be fun. I promise there will be enough booze to get tipsy and appetizers to fill your belly."
"No thanks."
"Come on, I'm afraid I'm going to come home one night and find you motionless on the couch with cockroaches, spiders, and ants crawling all over you."
"I can only hope."

When my roommate finally left, I sighed and looked in the mirror. I don't know what I saw looking at me. It was my own face, but I felt a kind of shame wash over me. I tried to hide behind a facade I had created for me long ago. I couldn't believe I hadn't killed this part of me already. I wanted to murder this part of me that still existed. There are some secrets to remain secrets. I would never tell my family, friends, and enemies of what was taking hours multiplied by three from my life. It wasn't necessary to speed up the process. It was unfolding as it should. The doctors could only give me a rough estimate of my time left. It pains me to say it is less than a year now. At one time, it was less than five but more than one. Any day could be my final day. I should reflect more but I don't want to for fear I will break to pieces. I wish I die in my sleep. Then I don't have to answer the questions I know will be asked.

How sick are you?
What did the doctor say?
How mad are you at God?
How do you feel?
Do you want an open or closed casket?
Do you feel cheated?
Have you told your parents?
What did your sister say?

I only wanted to know if my roommate left my any bananas for the banana split, I was going to make for breakfast.