By popular demand...

...I must confess that the paramedics did not use the ambulance's siren while hauling me to the hospital a day ago. Used 'em coming down here; I remember hearing them as I sat on the porch.

I wasn't entirely clear on the reason why. There were two choices: the first, of course, was that they were convinced I wasn't in any real danger. Or it could have been that they had decided it was all over, and were just being polite by not pulling the blanket up over my face just yet.

I was thinking about both possibilities.

I've had more than my share of "oh, ****" moments in my life. Most were in situations where I had at least a small amount of control over events. In such cases, there is less fear than adrenalin working; as events unfold, you are coping and -- perhaps this is because I walked away from them all -- never really just hang it up and await the inevitable.

Yesterday was not like that.

After hooking me up to their portable EKG machine (I still have red marks and some missing chest hair from the sensors they stuck on me) the paramedics apparently knew I wasn't having a heart attack. I didn't know that. What I knew was that the air that was plentiful for everyone else wasn't getting to me. I knew the sun was damn hot on my face. I knew I wanted to be unconscious. I knew all sorts of bad emotions that had been building up over recent months were surfacing, and I knew I was embarrassed that I couldn't control them.

You have no control when strapped to the stretcher.

I never got to the "heavenly light" stage. In fact, I was conscious every moment, angry because all the miserable crap that makes me unhappy had to get wrapped up in all this. Everything bad fed on everything else bad.

But I'm still not able to write about what was going through my head in detail.

I had nightmares last night. But at least I slept.

I'm feeling slightly better today. I can breathe, anyway.

But something broke yesterday. And I don't know how long it will take for the break to heal. If it ever heals.