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I think I know what it's like to be a ghost, as part of the living dead. I have this nagging, spooky suspicion that I'm starring in my own sequel of The Sixth Sense.

So this morning I'm on my way to work, late as usual, and with Toronto weather - snowing, as usual.

As I approach the four way intersection, needing to make a left, I notice that there are two vehicles opposite of me also making left, to the opposite direction. More importantly, I can see police lights on the roof of the second car.

Mind you, I'm still driving towards my need to hang left, and have not stopped at the line to wait for my turn at the lights. It's still green, and for once, no oncoming traffic on a busy street. Theoretically and in all likelihood, I should make this light.

Then again, there's that copper, sitting behind the car that's waiting to make a left across from me. It's still a green for everyone, I better speed up.

Just my luck, the light changes yellow. I have now a fraction of a second, because the car opposite of me is still in the way of the police vehicle, he probably won't bother to chase me. I decide to run this yellow.

Like a well choreographed tragic death scene, everything slows down to "Matrix" time. As I aggressively downshift to second, and begin to set up my left turn, the car opposite me also turns off. Now it's just me and the Pig, and I can no longer stop.....

I begin to turn, using engine breaking to slow me down, sliding just a little. This is a controlled slide mind you, and not as dramatic as you'd like to think. Still, my wheels pass the pedestrian line as the light shines amber.

But it is not the apex of the turn which I'm concentrated at. No, I'm staring at the cop, waiting for him to safely make his left turn also and away from me. But I sense trouble, as all heros in movies seem to know where the bullet will impact, and which organ it will pierce first. So too, I know something was deathly wrong. He wasn't turning....

I watch in horror out of the side of my vision, as he turns his wheels first back straight, then towards my direction. "Noooooooo!" I scream in my head, "Noooooooo!"

I finish making my turn, staring at my right side mirror. I hear his sirens fire up and witness his lights flash. Dead I am. Deader than dead. Dead like a duck. Quack!

I react, as only a man in panic-mode can. In one smooth, practiced motion, I grab the seatbelt from the B-pillar and snap it into place. I slow down and signal, already thinking of a great excuse to greet the officer with. I don't have one. I'm dead. He's got me running a deep yellow and endangering everyone and their little nephew, four blocks down street.....

And that's when I look into my rear view mirror. A grey-ish Honda Civic right up my tail, sniffing my exhaust fumes like a happy puppy greeting another dog. I stop at the side of the road, right blinkers doing "Twock. Twock.", like a death toll before an execution.

But incredulously, the cop stops the Civic that was up my six. He didn't stop me. I didn't do anything wrong! Joe Citizen losir was okay. He really was okay!

I pull away, smug as a bug in a rug. Laughing at the poor sap who took one for king and country. There was even a moment when I wanted to U-turn and give the guy the ol' sucker honk: "beep, beep." HA HA! But even I'll admit that's a bit much, eh?!

You would think that was it though, wouldn't you? Ol' losir learned his lesson. No yellow lights if you can stop, especially in the cold, slippery, Toronto winters. But oh no.....

So I'm leaving the company's underground parking lot, and just like Batman, our exit leads right to the highway entrance. The garage opens, and I fly out the gates, a thoroughbred at the Kentucky Derby. Only to be foiled by yet another red light.

This intersection is very strange I'm afraid. The lights only stay green for 3 seconds, literally. Normally, three or four cars can get through though. Since our company is mucho cheapo, the little laneway stays unplowed. When the lights change, I dump the clutch a little too aggressively, and do nothing but spin my wheels. By the time my car recovers, the lights are already yellow. Seeing that I didn't want to wait another two minutes before it was my turn, I pop it to second and goose it, plowing through the intersection on a fat, juicy, yellow light. I know I coulda stopped, but come on, it's losir. I wait for no man.

As soon as I pass the middle of the intersection, sirens and lights activate. Unbeknownst to me, there was a police car waiting to make a left turn, merging onto the same road I was travelling on. He's watching my car run this yellow, and there's not a darn thing I can say edgewise to excuse my behaviour. I could not help it, I swore a quick but vehemently blight: "Rats!"

Once again, I quickly yank my seatbelt into place. How can the same crap happen to the same guy twice? The stupid Pig was waiting for me the whole time..... since this morning!

I quickly stop. Hazards blinking my intention to be an inconvenience at the side of the road. I stare in my rear view mirror, praying for the same stupid Civic to be my safety buffer. No such luck. This time, losir was caught.

Or was he? For as soon as I stopped, the cop accelerated and blew by me, like he didn't see me stop. Like I was invisible, like I was.... dead!

The horrific truth struck me in my chest, knocking the wind out of me. Gawd, no. Maybe I am dead, and that's why he ignored me just now.... and that's why maybe this morning I was spared, because he didn't even see me turn....

Of course that's just dumb. Stuff like this just don't happen. Not in real life. It's not like I was floating above my body or anything remotely resembling an out of body experience. If I was dead, how was I driving my car? How come I had so much work to do today?? Grow up!

Okay, so I wasn't dead. But beating the cops at their own game twice in one day under extreme coincidences is a little, umm..... coincidental, don't you think? Maybe the cop was hungry, and was making a donut run of extreme importance.

.....okay, say it, I know you want to: "I see fed people." posted by losir at 9:21 PM

You know what gets my goat? People who always say "Well the parents should be the ones....." Horse-pucket!

We live in an expensive world my friends. Duel income families are a norm, rather than an exception. Worse off if you're raised by a single parent. Not that single-parent can't or don't do a good job mind, but they just can't afford the luxury of watching over their kid(s) twenty-four, seven. Someone has to put food on the table.

I think we have to update our thinking, and take some social responsibility towards raising our young as a generation. We can no longer put the blame of a devil child solely on his/her parents. This is no longer a viable working model.

Besides, kids grow up so much faster these days, because everything is so accessible. I didn't really learn about the birds and the bees until I was in Grade 4. (Hey, I'm a late bloomer). Maybe I was ignorant, but maybe some of it was because my parents/relatives (I grew up with my grandparents and aunts) were around to keep me in the dark.

These days however, if both your parents work and don't arrive home until 6pm, little Jimmy could probably be surfing pr0n at the tender age of 9 on his Dad's computer. We didn't have that umm..... luxury. A kid could get into a lot of trouble in two and half hours of non-supervision. I know I did. Maybe that's why I turned out this way??

Oh gawd, I don't have any adult supervision. Who's gonna tell me to grow up now?!

....I stand by my Animotion: "Mommmmmmy!" posted by losir at 2:31 PM

I use blogger to post on some of my other pages too. i.e: links.losir.com However, it's refusing to load up my template. Anyway, no way to update these pages.

....okay, not no way. Just don't wanna bother. posted by losir at 4:03 PM

I'm so ashamed of myself I could crawl into a hole and suffocate myself into oblivion.

Oh wait, I already do that, don't I? Hide behind my sparkling personality with a false permanent smile.

.....Something's gotta give, and soon. posted by losir at 2:08 PM

I'm officially sick of being sick. Yes, mark it down people. losir is tired of feeling like a Mac truck just did a three point turn on top of him.

First it was the ol' upchuck and flush. Now, I have a massive sore throat that just seem to have swelled up around my neck like a watermelon stuck in my food pipe.

I don't know if I can take much more. Well I guess I could, but I'm one hundred percent decidedly sour, and it's more than just my average cheery in the morn self. I'm talking grade "A", number one, off the wrong side of a King size bed, Rosie O'donell being made to come out sour. And I haven't shaved in five days.

It would be okay too if I could start eating regular again, but in the span of four days, I've had a total of three soft taco supremes from Taco Smell, two bagels with herb and garlic creamcheese - with tomato, and finally, two bowls of half-congee rice. That's it. That is all. In the span of four days peeps. Nasty.

I've lost about a good two-three pounds, showing really prominently on my cheeks. Although now I have perfect jaw bone structure, the rest of my body has suffered as well. My back is so devoid of muscle, I feel like a too-well done side of baby back ribs, off an anerexic pig.

I can't even hit the gym, as my muscles (and I'm using it strictly as a medical term) just don't have enough nutrient to be much use. Sure I could lift some weights. But the last time I checked, my bones aren't supposed to be growing anymore. That's as big (small) as they get.

This illness better pass soon, or else, "pencil neck geek" will once again be my first, middle, and last name.

....I think my fart set off the fire alarm yesterday. posted by losir at 12:15 PM

Gawd, who knew one man could emit so much gas.

....hey, it's natural, baby. posted by losir at 3:33 PM

Ugh, I so didn't want to post this....

Yo Thumper, tap dance on your own time. Geez, some people actually try to do work, at work.

....annoying. posted by losir at 2:39 PM

After so many years of living in insecurity, I still think about suicide.

Now before I go any further, I just want to re-assure you that I'm as sane and normal as the next nut job keeping it together. I'm really just a normal guy. Sometimes however, in the dead of night (maybe not the best time to jest), I think about hanging myself.

This happens most when I have a bout of insomnia. I'll close my eyels, and imagine slipping a noose around my neck. On more morbid occasions, I'd draw my blanket snuggly against my throat, pretend to bind my wrists behind my back, and finally try to feel my feet dangling beneath me as I slowly choke to death.

I think of this often, what it's like to be hung. I don't have a death wish. I haven't seriously thought about commiting suicide since I was oh, I dunno, a long while now. The last time I thought about ending it was maybe that day, high on my friend's 18th floor apartment. Looking down, I thought: It would be so much easier to just let myself fall. Maybe I'll sit with my back to the window, and fall backwards, because I'm too much of a coward to go face first. I even sat on the ledge with one foot dangling, just to see how much more stupid I get. Obviously, I am still here, so that's a good thing, I guess.

Anyway, let's not be too worried okay? I wouldn't tell anyone if I seriously was going bonkers. This isn't a subtle cry for help. I'm okay, I'm normal. I just wanted to share.

....dang, I just farted, and it smells to high heaven! posted by losir at 12:31 PM

It's been a rough several days. Gosh, I don't wish this on my worst enemies. (Not that I have any)

With any well written cliche laiden story, we must begin at the beginning. I must warn you that you should be sitting down and not eating, to read on.

It was a bleak and cold Sunday night. After supping at the Toxic One's abode, my stomach started doing the ol' mumble jumble. I was sweating, my hands were clamy, it was a malady I could not shake.

By 10pm, I knew something was seriously wrong. I stumbled into her bathroom, assumed the position on top of the toilet bowl, and vomitted.

I didn't want to. Vomitting is one of my phobias. As a kid, I was so scared of puking, I would cry incessantly when I knew the inevitable was at hand. So too as an adult, I no longer drink enough to upchuck. I know my threshold tolerence to alcohol, and refuses to cross that line.

Anyway, after what I thought had been a freak occurance, I asked her if I could take a quick shower to clean up. Having done so, I felt so much better.

At first, I thought it was the hot dog I had earlier in the day at Costco. I mean, bad food happens all the time at places like that right?

Ms Toxin saw how sick I looked, and asked me to stay the night. I didn't want to, but seeing that I live alone, at least I'll someone to take care of me if I got sick again. So I grudgingly agreed.

Good thing too, because within a half hour of my first session with the toilet bowl, I again felt like food was coming back up. I quickly ran to the washroom, half stumbling, half plodding towards my one true target - the procelain throne.

I'll spare you the gruesome details this time, my disgusted reader(s). Know that your man, losir, did survive another bout; but barely.

Crawling back to the bed for the second time, I knew that this wasn't just a tainted hot dog. Could I be coming down with something much worse? Like gastrointestinal virus, or better known as the "Norwalk virus"?

As soon as that thought hits, I get up, dazed and confused. "Ugh. Not again." Yup. Again.

This time, it's worse. After vomitting, I also have to do a number two; a messy, liquidy number two. (Hey, you chose to read my page.)

I request a wastebasket double layered with plastic bags to be placed by the side of my bed, since by now I knew I'd be using it often, and how.

Every hour, on the hour, I would get up either once to puke, or have another bout of diarrhoea. After 3am, I was so dehydrated, that I would almost black out standing up. The trip from the washroom to the guest room seemed like a lifetime. There were moments where I'd almost not make it back to bed, and only survived through sheer will alone. I gritted my teeth, fixated the bed with my dead stare, and willed myself to not collapse.

This went on until about 7am, when Ms. Toxin finally woke up and drove me to the emergency ward. This is another phobia of mine, the hospital. I hate it there. I have a hard time visiting people at a hospital. You don't know how hard it was for me to be admitted as an emergency patient.

Anyhow, by then I was already on the road to recovery, and after taking some Enfalyte, I was sent home. Actually, that's not 100% true. I was supposed to wait for a doctor to see me, but after sitting there for two hours straight, and falling asleep at the chair, I decided I was good enough to sleep it off at her house.

Which I did. It's now 8:43am Tuesday, and I haven't left her house, nor this bed for long. I'm still debating whether I should go to work today or not. Technically, my dizzy spells have abaited, so I no longer need to vomit. The fact I've had nothing but liquids all day, mean I have no ammunition left for a number two. I think I should be okay, but I'm very hungry, yet I'm too scared to eat anything remotely solid. I haven't even had any congee that Ms. Toxin's grandfather made for me. I don't know if I should.

Oh well, I'm sorry that I've digusted you so for this post. Understand that sometimes, this page really isn't for anybody else but me.

....Between bouts of convulsions, I was thinking of this blog. posted by losir at 8:46 AM