Clean bathrooms, pink ribbons and winsockies.

Chuck Pahluniuk wrote "No matter how much you love someone you'll step back when the pool of their blood inches up too close.", I've been pondering this lately more than usual. On Tuesday someone I love had pieces removed. Not the first pieces, just more pieces. After they took the first pieces she said to me, "Meghan Elizabeth, I want to know what they did with them. They're mine." I didn't really know what to say to this, I think I may have laughed until she laughed. What do you say to that? I mean either you laugh or you cry and she and I, we don't cry, it doesn't work for us, it slows us down. So we laugh until we go back to figuring out how to rule the world. Ruling the world begins with long beautiful hair, your hair is your crown. Next came clean bathrooms, this is key, if you cannot hide that you are human you will never be queen! Also cleanliness lives next to godliness and someday you might need a little god even if its only as a rental. Basically, don't cry over spilt milk, clean that shit up and put it in your pocket, thats a token of cleanliness your gonna trade for a little kindness some day. After this you must own your chosen path of crazy and stick with it. This is essential to your survivor as a ruler, there can be no wavering, no uncalculated shifts in the direction of you and your one woman army. Your mercy is your weakness and your strength, use it with care. Finally, A hard head makes a soft but.



What happens when the Queen loses her crown? You buy her wigs, overpriced, ridiculous, costume wigs and you pray to the god you've been cleaning for that she laughs and wears them.When it's revealed she is, in fact, human and she's cashed in all her spilt milk for a few extra sour years and gone bat shit crazy? You hope its just the cancer fighting the person you love that lived in there.You hope you weren't completely oblivious and blind to who this person was. You wrestle with the thought that what you saw was a mirage.Then you think, "What could a queen have that could cover the interest owed to good old Grim for continued use of the body?". Perhaps the Queen had nothing but pieces, and maybe she wasn't specific enough with one Mr. Grim Reaper, in regard to the terms. Possibly she didn't read the fine print, where it clearly states the good pieces, the kind, loving pieces that the important people love a queen for, those pieces will be the first to go. And if a hard head makes a soft but, what makes a hard head? What makes a hard head? How about banging it against a wall and plotting your next big jump of the sane train, your next bold, death defeating move.That could make a hard head right?

The more important question for me lately is what happens when there are no more pieces to take? When all the harvestable parts have been removed, what exactly is left. I'm trying to believe that the very best parts were passed along to the important people long before the deal with Grim, before the cancer settled in and started redecorating and before we started stepping back. I'm wishing the lessons learned from the Queen before the fall can be remembered longer than the ugliness of a lonely body snatcher named cancer. Each end has its own beginning and somewhere in the middle we turn to run from the puddle that is the inevitable end. No two people will run in the same direction, at the same speed or with the same form but every person will step back before they go and everyone will feel guilt for not going back to stop the blood flow. The last few years I've been stepping further and further back. I've closed my eyes and lost track of the blood but it hasn't stopped pooling. It's survival mode and I may have committed to it. This isn't about CPR or applying pressure, it's not about loving someone enough to splash around in their blood and it isn't about saving them. This is death after life. This is a fight that must be lost eventually because no one gets out alive, no one, literally lives forever. Except maybe a Queen...