This leaves me gasping for air, gasping for life.
Little furry pussy cats can be quite toxic to my system, sending me into a tailspin. Also cold air can turn me into a fish flopping around on the ground mouth agape. Usually "Ass-Mar" comes to me like an annoying old friend, nudging me, tapping me on the shoulder, demanding payment for sins now long forgotten, or maybe never committed.
But sometimes he comes to me as the Angel of Death. Someone recently reminded me, "You could die," from an attack. I've had a few bad ones in my time. The most memorable when I was 15 or 16 years old. I collapsed into a snowbank, gasping for life. My little brother picked me up and carried me home. If it wasn't for him, I guess, I wouldn't be here typing these words now.
Yesterday was a bright, cold day. About a 1/3 of the way into my run I had to stop. The cold air was trapped deep in my lungs. I was drowning. My head spinning from lack of oxygen. Little black stars were swirling around in my head.
It's kind of funny. One minute feeling bright and shiny and the next the Black Angel of Death is sitting on my chest. Suffocation! I walked home gingerly, like a damaged toy on delicate cat feet. Made it back to our toasty apartment, took a gasping hit from my trusty inhaler and my lungs opened up like a golden flower.
The Black Cloud lifted. The Angel disappeared. The rest of the day I was reeling. Even a tiny glimpse of your demise can put a new glow around everything you do...
