One More Week

I just left my doctor’s office. I can’t drive. I turn on the car and I blast the air conditioning right in my face because I can feel myself burning. My cheeks are red, and my hands are sweaty. He told me I will probably die in a week for now, or maybe a month. I believe a week is good enough. What am I supposed to do until then? I passed the phase where I would sit and cry on my couch all day. I also passed the phase where I would go to random bars at 3 pm and ask for a double shot of tequila. I guess I will just wait. Wait here in the car. Order some fries, bacon, and coca-cola. If I am dying, might as well die eating what I like. Oily fingers and all.

Based on one of the prompts in the book “642 Things To Write About” by The San Francisco Writers’ Grotto.