I felt that way just now, when I open the fridge for a sip to quench my thirst and see the milk carton behind a container of semolina. These containers I'm describing have a suction mechanism to keep things fresh, but I guess if they're kept too long without suctioning air back out, the lid doesn't stay fastened to the container. I knew that already, but I seem to feel that I have giant hands like Kareem Abdul-Jabaar and try lifting it with one hand. Half the flower mixture spills, and I still have in my head that ol` Mexican proverb my parents chanted all too frequently "God gets mad when you throw food away."
As I watch the container slip from my hand in slow motion, I'm saying "my life is hell" and I just can't get over how depressed I am from throwing out all this perfectly good grain/flower. I'm just like Chris from the movie Lookout and I want to throw a book against the wall so hard that it makes a hole thru the other side. It's this anger and sadness of "spilling milk" that brings me to realize what my life is totally fucked. I mean, look at it. I spend all my time in some fantasy world that I can't even bring myself to ask a question like "Hey, you're a celebrity, aren't you?" because starting a conversation with a stranger turns me off.
I mean, Ana Garcia could walk in and I would hesitate saying a single word to her trying to weigh the pros & cons. If I do, then it will be a bummer to realize that she really isn't somebody I knew back in high school, but she might be single and open minded and who knows… If I don't, I'll be safe and not have to feel so emotional over a total stranger, if she really is a stranger at that. Flashes of blood and nooses flicker behind my mind. As if.
I couldn't bring myself to regain my composure for one hour. Half an hour zombying out, five minutes playing red hands with the cat. The fucker always wins. Then I grab my laptop and decide to proof read one of my recent dialog entries. So here I am. It's 11:30, usually my bed time. I haven't proofed anything, but I've forgotten about the silly semolina. Damn!
12:06AMOK, so I accomplished a quick proof read, composed a new entry, still have about 100 pages left to read in my book, and tomorrow/today I just have to find where the last edited copy of the 50 pages of work I've done so far is located: the studio, the PC, or disk. Zzzzz