Twelve days. I can't go twelve minutes without refilling my glass. I have a four-litre-a-day habit, and I would hate to be forced to give it up. I would fight it every step of the way. Fortunately, I can fight it. I can stand, walk, talk, scream, yell, and swear like a sailor. And I can pour myself another glass. If I had to go twelve days without it, I wouldn't want to live.

Water.

I thought about it last night, when I woke up thirsty, and took a sip from the glass on my nightstand. I thought about it this morning while I was in the shower, feeling it on my skin. And at work, refilling my 1.5 litre bottle from the cooler. How spoiled I am!

I thought about it on the subway, when I saw the picture of a man being arrested in Florida for trying to provide water to someone whose thirst will kill her - slowly, painfully, irritatingly. Arrested. For providing water. Like it's cocaine or something else illegal. Some skinny bitch in a diet book is telling me to drink 6-8 glasses a day, while a greedy, heartless man in Florida is saying that his wife will thirst until dead.

Fine. She's going to die. He's been given license to kill, all wrapped up in a neat little bow from the Supreme Court. So let him be a man about it, walk into that hospice with a glass of water and a plastic bag, and end her suffering. All of it. Starting with the thirst. He has permission to murder her. Let him give her that last drink of water so that her final memory is of relief, and then let him put the bag over her head. It's a hell of a lot kinder than what he's doing now.

I need to refill my bottle now. My thirst has been unquenchable these past twelve days. Go figure.