It is palpable in the air, the smell. You can feel it, taste it, almost hear it spread. It engulfs you, but it doesn't numb your senses. That wouldn't be cruel enough. No, when you smell it, your nerves jolt you in to action, like putting your hand in a flame. You cannot control yourself as your body flees.

The smell proceeds me wherever I roam, and trails me whichever way I wonder. It surrounds me like a fog, one that will never disperse. There is nothing I can do to make it better, only worse.

The real blessing? You're only reading this, it means I'm not actually here. But here's how to recreate what you are missing:

First, take a carton of egg nogg, leave it out in the blistering heat, and forget it for about a month. Set the liquid contents aside, and look under your couch. See that pair of socks? Stick that in your pot as well. Next, go by the side of the road, and take your pick at the forgotten souls alongside of it (the longer they've been there the better). Stir in a dozen rotten eggs from a forgotten fridge, a clove of garlic, a fish left by the side of an algae infested lake, the contents of your compost pile, a handful of infant diapers, a bushel of ripe durian fruit, a bag of microwave popcorn left in for an hour, some lumps of dung, burnt rubber, toe lint, a bit of vomit, and a cup of toxic sludge. Are you still living? Well, I'm not done. You have to let that sit in the darkest corner of your house until it starts crawling.

That's my smell.