On the Bright Side, My Color's Still Good

The great blogging battle against my brother is over. He won. I lost.

So here I sit. It's all I can do to get up and take a small bit of liquid, then jot down these last few lines ... before ... I don't know what ... hope the lightning hits me and puts me out of my misery, perhaps...

I feel like cussing a blue streak. If only it'd do any good. Instead, I guess I'll just channel my disappointment, and this dreadful feeling of rage into a silence deeper than anything I've managed in a while. Seriously, this might just be a new low. "Christ!" I'm able to barely manage a curse, shaking my fist at the stormy sky before letting it fall aimlessly back to the bed. I look at my hand. On the bright side, my color's still good.

Some people go, "I wish I was in bed ... I'd be happy." Right, because you've never seen those commercials for bedbug exterminators or the ones for mattress stores. Did you know if you don't change your mattress every seven years you get a seven-year-itch of an entirely different kind? From bugs spontaneously generated from your own dead skin cells. Every bolt of lightning, like we're getting today, it's another million. Then there's bedbugs, in battle with these spontaneous bugs, trying to eat the skin cells before they spawn. All the while, as they bite one another, they periodically get you.

I'm resigned to it. I'm not stirring. I deserve it. I couldn't hold my brother off ... for three damned days. I thought I was the blogging champion of the family. Then I heard from my nephew that his dad was "catching up," and I didn't even know he had a blog. I thought yesterday, maybe -- a long shot -- those who like my blog, and the various readers I get everyday, might be able to put me over the finish line, to vanquish my brother once and for all. But it wasn't to be. They deserted me. Or whatever help they provided was far from enough.

The truth of the matter is likely this: They've all abandoned me. Leaving me alone, alone and blue, alone and bitter ... Well, to you, to any stragglers stopping by to see my reaction to this terrible defeat -- actually a rout -- take a good long look at what you've done. You ruined me. Me, the last guy I'd ever imagine to be in this position. I've always been an overcomer. But I couldn't overcome this. Thanks for nothing. Thanks for kicking a guy when he was down. Don't think I won't remember it. I vow, if it's the last thing I do, I'll ruin each and every one of you. You know who you are ... and if I can get my second wind ... and get these creaky legs to work ... and a few other things ... bug bites ... and get your address ... and drag myself across country ... well, I won't tell you what I'll do. It'll be my little secret.

Oh, man, I'm such a mess. I've already expended more energy typing this than I had. And I used the rest shaking my fist. In my brother's direction. Enjoy the fruit of your victory, brother! Maybe I can't take out my frustrations on my readers -- most of them live in places like Russia, China, Ukraine, Bulgaria, and Canada. (I'm probably close enough to crawl to Canada, being only three or four states up) -- but I know where you live!