The Dead Fish Excuse

When I was little, really little, like an ovum, I was cursed. It’s a long story, but essentially, my mother thought I was indigestion, and somehow ended up at a gypsy woman’s tent, as one does. She upset the woman and was subsequently cursed. As the curse was being placed, it deflected off of my mother’s titanium alloy heart and inadvertently struck a teeny little wandering egg: me. Well, me after a miserably hot pregnancy in the tropics.

The curse is that if something stupid is going to happen, it’s going to happen to me. Hang on because there is a link between the curse and dead fish. Just wait for it. I was all excited (and a little nervous) about going to my first meeting with fellow writers. Transportation to the meeting was a matter of concern for me that night, but in the end, it was of no concern at all! I shall explain.

As a goddess, I understand some of the finer subtleties that relate to my image. You see, a goddess is only as strong as the fidelity and adoration she inspires in those who worship her. So, in my endless wisdom, I decided a long time ago that a goddess looks her most worshipful when she appears to be gliding forth. Not walking like everyone else (ambulation is overdone and so last season). Chariots, however stylish, can be problematic in modern life. Stabling horses in the city is fraught with difficulties, and so in the end, I decided against using a chariot. Instead, I opted for something modern, quiet, and decidedly free of horse apples: I chose an electric wheelchair. Baby, I glide!

Anyhow, back to the story at hand. There was some sort of mix up at the temple and I was not going to arrive at the meeting accompanied by the usual pomp and circumstance. I decided against bringing in those annoying jugglers and acrobatic girls, and thought better of that cavalcade of elephants. The city council was not happy about the prospects of cleaning up two-foot high piles of pachyderm poop. I graciously took their concerns to heart and was going to disguise myself as a typical woman and catch the tram and glide my way to the meeting.

At four in the afternoon, I thought I’d have myself a leisurely pee, then eat dinner, and then get ready to leave for the meeting. I was sitting next to my bed, leaning over onto my elbow, rearranging my clothing, when -whammo!- my elbow slipped out from beneath me. I was trapped, unable to sit up and stupid me, I had given every last slave the night off, and forgot to have my phone nearby in case of just such an emergency. I was stuck in that position for sixteen hours until the next morning when my head slave came in to attend me. Man, did I have to pee!!
So, what does a goddess do for sixteen hours of insane discomfort? She thinks! When I’m earth-bound, I try to work a minimum of magik, so I was determined not to cheat and do something easy like give myself magikal strength or call forth a slave through ESP to assist me; I wanted to tough it out and have an experience. I spent my time devising a helpful system for pain management. For every ach, I tried to vividly imagine something pleasurable that could cause such a pain (rather than something humiliating such as lying in one position like a dead fish for sixteen hours).

My hips hurt and so I imagined how that might come about in a real life, positive way. Cognition ensued and I saw two of my lovely slaves practically fighting over who was going to get the sweet spot; there was a slave at each thigh, passionately pulling at me, not realising they were hurting me in their uncontrollable desire. How delicious! Pain is good!

You see how the system works? The pain at my neck turned into one of my darling followers biting just that much too hard; perfection! With practice, you, too, can enjoy insane discomfort. The next time you have a moderate headache, try to slip into a different frame of mind by convincing yourself that of course your head hurts- whose head wouldn’t hurt after eight hours of shagging like a chimpanzee?!

If you can fake-out your own mind, you can manage most any calamity- that horrible bus ride home that never ends and the guy next to you who just looked at your boobs, that bitching out your boss gave you when she had cheese and onion sandwich breath that made you nearly stagger, or that menacing bull dyke whose girlfriend you accidently flirted with who now wants to kill you very slowly (with a spoon).

Those sixteen hours of doing my impression of a dead fish helped me achieve transcendence. As a goddess, this looks really good on my CV. I am sorry to have missed the June meeting, but all going well, and as long as I don’t decide to do anything else stupid (what are the odds on that?), I might just show up at the July meeting, probably on the wrong night, and maybe an hour late.

Love,
Minxy