the beginning. . .

shit.

i can't breathe. i'm pretty sure i'm choking on the last bite of my leftover birthday cake. it was stale and totally not worth what could have possibly just been my last breath. don't panic, my inner voice shouts at me. i ignore her and start to panic.

shit. shit. shit!

looking frantically around my apartment for somthing to hurl myself against, i see my cat, toby. he's lounging on the back of the couch, arms and legs draped over either side, looking at me with utter indifference as my eyes start to water. he's such a little asshole. i'm going to die, right here and now, in this sad studio apartment while my cat watches witout even a twitch from his tail. he's not even my cat, just a reminder of an ex mistake.

i'm starting to feel light headed. i can't feel my feet. my fingers, now clutched around my throat, are beginning to tingle. I run toward the back of the couch and launch myself onto it, stomach first. nothing. oh god, what do i do if this doesn't work? my vision is starting to cloud. i stumble back, and try again. the cat has just barely noticed me at this point and lifts his head as the would-have-been-lethal bite smacks him in the face. his ears fold back and he hisses at me as he jumps to the floor with disgust.

oh don't worry, toby, the feeling is mutual.

relieved and gasping for air, the welcome oxygen burns my lungs. i cringe as the pain radiates through my rib cage. my stomach is killing me and i can feel the ugly bruise forming on my abdomen. i collapse on the couch, which has now scooted 6 inches from where it normally sits, and the reality of what could have happened starts to sink in. i just almost died on my 34th birthday. i'm single and living alone. i'm a damn cat lady. i take a big slug of leftover wine out of a coffee mug that, ironically, has "i love my cat" painted on the side. i still have a lump in my throat. ugh, what am i doing with my life?

my phone beeps at me for 274th time today, and i wish that were an exaggeration. another person wishing me a happy (you didn't just die) birthday, i'm sure. i consider turning it off, but swipe the screen to unlock it and see that it's sloan's fifth message today.

leighton. are you dead?

huh?

my best friend has this ridiculously uncanny way of knowing exactly what's going with me. sometimes, it's rather annoying, but i guess if i were, oh i don't know, lying dead in my apartment with a baked good lodged in my throat she'd be the first one to find me.

ive been texting all day, everything ok?

yeah. i need a damn dog.

what? what are you talking about? im calling, answer.

bout to get in the shower, i'll call in a min

i can hear the phone ringing as i walk into the bathroom, and close the only door in the apartment behind me.