Through the folds of imagination and misery, please travel back with me to the wily time of March 2004.
Spring was blossoming into a ravishing young woman, about to use her comely wiles to entice Winter to leave his magnificent throne of Weather.
Down upon the skin of Planet Earth, humans were battling one another continuously over who could acquire the most meaningless mass of material, not realizing each acquisition was biting away at their ever deflated Soul.
It is within these constructs that we join our Protagonist, Happy-Go-Lucky Stacy.
For what he lacked in stature and mass, he made up for in personality and whimsy. Every day he would use technology to broadcast his thoughts over magical airwaves of sound, infuriating and entertaining at every possible turn.
Evenings were especially rambunctious, for Happy-Go-Lucky Stacy filled them with ravishing women of beauty and brilliance, giggling and dancing as they ransacked the town.
But as Fate struck midnight, all would change. And not for the better.
Statements on-air became forgetful and rambling. What was once food both tasty and vibrant, exited just as quickly, vile and unwanted.
A doctor both portly and friendly, brimming with knowledge and depth, thrust a tiny sword into Stacy's reluctant upper arm and gathered a massive amount of Blood Red Soul.
Happy-Go-Lucky Stacy knew the answer, for the Doctor's face was mired in doubt.
"Your CKD has caused CKF. So I'm recommending HD, ASAP, before you end up DOA and don't PAY."
Apparently our Mighty Doctor was in a hurry, for she felt that acronyms would suffice for her Tiny Peon Patient.
Happy-Go-Lucky Stacy had created, unwillingly, a wonderfully tasty soup of Fear and Loathing and allowed it to brew for eight weeks before giving in to the horrific creature known as Dialysis.
Upon entering Dialysis' Castle of Forgotten Souls, Happy-Go-Lucky Stacy felt his adjectives becoming weak. "Happy" scurried away with tears in his eyes. "Go" bolted for the wrong door, slammed himself into a closet, and stayed there until the custodial staff arrived. "Lucky" instantly burst into a million forlorn pieces and hasn't been seen or heard from since.
So with each step lonelier than the last, Stacy entered the cavernous dwelling of disaster, and was met by his twisted host.
He was shaped awkwardly like the letter "C" with a tiny, slender frame. Barely noticeable hands and miniature feet jutted from each end of his alphabet frame. They continuously moved and gyrated, begging for the use of appendages that were never to be.
At the top end of his body, an oval mass of flesh served as his head. Wiry and dry, his green stained hair whisked in all different directions when he spoke. When he smiled, every tooth was shaped hopelessly like a sharp letter "V", giving way to stains from colors not yet named.
With every step Stacy made closer to the dungeoned chair, Dialysis would bound from wall to wall, laughing and screaming with unmitigated delight.
"Yyyyyoooooouuuuuuuu...." Its as though each letter of the word possessed its own syllable.
Stacy would have spoken up, and called him crazy, but that seemed utterly redundant.
Stacy finally reached his Over Sized Clown Chair, and Dialysis stopped moving for just one moment. He planted himself right at Stacy's feet and slowly moved his excuse for a head from one end of Stacy's body to the other. Stacy could finally peer through Dialysis' hair to find there were holes where eyes should have been.
"The women, ha!" He could barely contain himself now.
"The women. The happy. And all between, are now, ha!"
The chair reached out and swallowed Stacy whole. Every inch of his body melted into the fabric so he couldn't escape. Dialysis' raised his hands in the air like an epic conductor. Two needles, brimming with fire and tubing, snaked their way across the dungeon floor.
Once they reached Stacy's chair, Dialysis motioned for them to strike his arm with unrelenting force and pressure.
Stacy's head thrust back and his jaw jutted wide. Dialysis' mimed that he was zipping his lip, so each scream was muted before it could erupt.
Because Stacy possessed the knowledge that failure to comply would most certainly bring Death, he returned. Again. And again. And even again.
Again and again and again.
As weeks bled into years, Stacy learned to hide any minute indication that he was suffering. For he knew that made Dialysis happy.
But agonizing, in all its many human forms, has a way of devouring the adjectives that make us who we are.
Miserable was most common. Evil, just as popular. Asshole was bandied about, but never fully adopted.
But if Dialysis' has one undeniable personality trait, its that he only pays attention to the negative. He relishes it. Bathes in it. Uses it for his own personal wiles.
And that's where Stacy has the upper hand. You know, the one without the raping needles.
For unbeknown to Dialysis, Stacy the Downtrodden has reached a milestone of epic proportions.
Today. Lovely today. Marvelous today.
Today marks seven years on the UCSF Kidney Transplant List.
When the phone call arrives, and it will any moment, Stacy will smile. The emotion from that moment will reach Dialysis' skin, and for once, he will burn. Every single pore on his body will jettison from his frame, screaming for mercy that will never arrive.
Stacy will fling his treatment blanket upon Dialysis's smoking corpse and announce one last decree:
"I'm taking applications for new adjectives. Anyone want to apply?"