There you go, me in a nutshell. I’ll make drama out of anything, which is why I’m pursuing a career as an actor. I do it tastefully, of course. Wouldn’t want to make people think I was actually dying when I saw an amusing meme on Tomb-Blur, even though everyone says all the time that’s they’re ‘literally dying’. Pfft, amateurs.
Then I learned that Melbourne has hyperbaric chambers coming into use, and that was it. I can actually hyperventilate so much that I need to step inside an oxygen chamber to get my breath back. It’s called medicine- hyperbaric medicine, to be precise- so there are actual health benefits. I just revel in the thought of announcing that I can no longer breathe and must return to my portable oxygen chamber to recover.
Such potential. Quite often when confronted with news I start to take deep breaths, because there’s no better way to express your immense surprise. Just yesterday the postman brought me a letter with the gas bill, which was slightly higher than usual. I made sure he was still standing there when I ripped it open with a flourish, my hand placed upon my chest as I took in the amount. My eyelids fluttered, I steadied myself with the door frame and made moves as if to wilt into his arms. He didn’t look too happy about this, so I decided against actually going through with it. Sometimes you have to learn when ordinary, non-dramatic people aren’t willing to play along. It’s a gift. My breathing had quickened, obviously. I treat this like any other show, and thus I was giving 110%.
An oxygen chamber would complete the picture. Like snuff boxes of old, I would retire to my portable Melbourne hyperbaric chamber and recover my composure, except this is considerably more high tech and good for you in general. And the scene would close…in perfection.