overdose?

Pickle number two, that's where I am in the decision making process.

Some people smoke, some people have security blankets, some people call their mother, or go get blitzed; but in my times of great plight, it's the vlassic stork that gets me through. I'm broke right now though, so instead of that cute little stork in his goofy blue hat appeasing me with talk of his crunch, it's Eden Garden Kosher Dills from the dollar tree. I have to admit, they are better. Don't tell the stork though, he gets pretty rough with that beak.
I'm doing okay. The upbeat wannabe punk on my stereo has injected me with enough optimism to pretend I won't finish this jar. But really, I fear that before I know it I'll be huddled in my bed, Max, the homosexual beagle on my lap, arms curled around the pickle jar as I nurse the last bit of pickle juice from the jar like a broke drunk on his last jug of Popov Vodka. My face will be puffy and all wet-looking, I'll and have heartburn and be pretty sure I smell like a salt lick, but still find the engergy to mumble the words to "angel" by sarah maclaughlan in a pitiful little voice.
I'll seriously consider finding my car keys and making a chaste pilgimage to walmart, straight to the canned goods/pickle aisle and straight to the checkout, but when it comes down to it, I'll be content to put my mouth to the jar and just hang out like that for a while, huffing the leftovers after drinkign the juice, not really caring about the stupid red ring that will be all around my mouth like warpaint when I finally get tired of the pickle fumes.
Through every major crisis and change in my life, there have been pickles. No lie. When, in pubescent fear, i transferred schools, my dad came to visit me and he brought me a gallon jar of pickles every other week. Ok, Every week. I needed them; for sustenance and moral support.
When I moved to Denver to nanny , my best friend showed up at my house on the morning of my departure with two jars of pickles and an easter egg full of silly putty. They were gone in the first three days.
Ingredients: Fresh cucumbers, water, vinegar, salt, calcium chloride, polysorbate 80, yellow 5, and balls...sometimes balls like john wayne. I could take out a village with the strength supplied at times by those wicked little cucumbers.
I don't need a damn hug and I don't want to talk about it. I don't want your advice and I don't want you to make me laugh. When people make me laugh when I'm supposed to be mulling somethign over I feel this unbearable guilt, like I'm ignoring something important. I start to feel like some terrible little A.D.H. D. child who throws away his meds cause it's more fun to spaz out.

So I'm just going to sit here and mull this over with my jar of pickles, which by the way, only have five calories each. Can you say that about YOUR comfort food? Didn't think so.
I'll be fine tomorrow. That's just how it is.