No, you don't, unless you have

An acquaintence had a massive heart attack last week, and has severe brain damage from lack of oxygen during and immediately after the cardiac event. He can't speak at all.  It terrifies me.
A few weeks ago, I strolled up to the bike show just as they were doing the rev-up for the hp contest. I hadn't been around a really powerful engine since my surgery, so I wasn't prepared. From 100 yards away I could feel the wires that hold together my ribcage were beginning to vibrate.
People who claim to care about me get butthurt and pissy when I refuse to be around them when they're smoking pot, because I can not have anything illegal in my system in any bloodwork, or I lose my benefits completely.
Same thing about sodium content in foods, stress in general, going out "partying" or socializing with people whom empirical data has shown will end up with at least 1 person in handcuffs. Think felons R us, on parade.
But you don't know what it's like to be gasping, never quite getting enough air, knowing and often hoping that when you close your eyes each time, that you may not wake up.
Unless you've been there, yourself.
I do not owe anyone my health, my heart, my life. If I choose to jump in front of a bullet for you, that is one thing, but I refuse to let anyone's childish, selfish, petty, bullshit behaviour make me drop dead of heart related issues. And only until you've actually been there, do you know.

Murder, she whimpered

My treadmill just tried to kill me.
I hadn't been on Treddy - yes, that's what I call him - in nearly 2 weeks, since I have a sick cat (Yes, I'm a cat person, but that isn't what this is about) and also because my bro, Frank, was visiting to give me a break around the house, and because I gave myself a concussion last week. Yes, I'm that graceful. Not a long story - door, dog, leash, temple, doorframe. I know.
Anyway, I hadn't been on Treddy in 12 days. I had been doing 3 miles a day, every day, for months. That may not sound like a lot, but it is when you consider just a few months back I was on a table with my chest cut open for 17.5 hours to have a valve replaced and a bypass on another. It's been a long road, and I still have a long ways to go, but this also isn't about that.
This is about Treddy. The executioner.
I don't usually walk that fast, about 4 mph, but I have a long stride, so it goes pretty smoothly. Not today. Treddy was looming in judgement every single time I glanced in his general direction, so even though I didn't really feel like it, the cat was having a little better day, so I kicked my own ass onto Treddy. 6 minutes in I heard a pathetic whimpering. It took me a bit to realize was coming from me. 12 minutes in, I started crying. My back and legs screaming for mercy, I stabbed through sweaty blurred vision in the general direction of where I swear the OFF button used to be. It had traded places with the SPEED UP button in what I can only surmise was an attempt to take my life. I was prepared to stop; Treddy sped up. Graceful me, went zooming off the back and was only saved from certain death, or at least another concussion, by landing in the garbage can. That's right. Treddy tried to kill me, then dispose of my body.
My legs are now jelly, and my blood pressure that I'm doing all this to keep lower is now anything but. I've rarely been in greater need of a bottle or 4 of wine. And if my lasix kicks in again any time in the next hour, I'll just have more laundry to do tomorrow. When I can walk again.

Quiche and '76

Yes, in my mind they are connected.
I'm taking a MyDay today, which means unplugging as I see fit, from the world in general. But this is stuck in my head, and I have to get it out, so you, Lucky Reader, get a free trip into the psychotic amusement park that is a fraction of my mind!
You're welcome.
Ever hate someone so much that anything about them, or that reminds you of them, you also hate? Or at least can't really like?
1976.
1 of my exes was born January 5th, 1976. Yes, a few coughcoughcough years younger than me. I hate him far more than any other human being on the planet, for reasons it would take far too long to explain. We got married because of the chemistry - we were both extreme adherents to the chemical life, and I was weak. Same reason we split up, except I stopped the chemicals and became strong.
Anyway, I hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate, okay I really dislike anything associated with 76. I won't even get gas from that station. And 1976 wasn't a bad year for me, originally. My family, being the patriotic bunch that we were, celebrated the Bicentennial by going to Canada! Right. Moving on.
I hate 76 so badly that when I hit that Powerball a few months back, my first thought was, Oh I'm so glad 1 & 5  were not my numbers and they cut off before 76! Okay, that was my 2nd thought. My first was, Huh.
Yeah, it takes a lot to shake me. I kind of accept anything astoundingly good as just payment for the incredibly shitty things that have happened, many of which I don't feel were justified. On that scale, I'm still due some amazingly wonderful things, and there's time since I seem to be unbreakable.
The quiche? Oh, yes. 1st, if your quiche seems dry, as my ex used to think until he tasted mine, substitute 2 tablespoons of plain Greek yogurt for your cream.
See what I did there? Yeah, I'm impressed I remembered it, too, but the cats and dog ate snoozing in sunpuddles.