A new kind of “What?”
This is your brain on anxiety. Or Benedryl and Ibuprofen.
Is there a difference?
I woke up with that crazy, irrational, disturbing feeling–the one where Earth is in impending doom and you’re ground zero.
It’s more than the fact that Earth has hit critical mass and we’re just waiting for that one flake to topple the tons of snow on the mountain top. You’d have to be as comatose as a rock in an avalanche not to see it coming.
It’s like waking up to the sound of an air raid siren while your house is shaking and a tornado is in the process of devouring it.
It’s like knowing that you’re screwing up everything around you, knowing that the only thing between you and your last dime is your job while your government is giving away your country to illegal aliens, but going out and buying a color laser printer instead of paying for Spanish lessons.
It’s like jumping out of a plane, spiraling down, down, down–enjoying the spectacular view, the sensation of freedom, but in the back of your mind you know you should be worried about the lack of an essential element for survival. You forgot your parachute.
It’s like the fact that a warped case of weird isn’t enough to make this day feel any better.
That’s how I woke up this morning, full of the sensation that I’ve forgotten something very, very important that I’m supposed to do and my knee jerk reaction to the issue is to buy a color laser printer.
Why does someone facing a dental bill the size of a car payment do something that stupid?
I am one check away from financial catastrophe and one governmental screw up away from watching the world turn into a giant radiation farm, yet instead of hunkering down and preparing for the worst, I’m sitting here typing a blog about buyers remorse on steroids.
Not that this is a huge expenditure. What is $300 when the US government is amassing a trillion dollar interest rate each year?
It’s a reflection of the basic makeup that creates a society capable of allowing a trillion dollar interest payment. I’m a single drop of water glomming together with billions of other drops of water, a microcosm of all the other microcosms that have joined each other to create the tsunami that is coming at me while the global turbulence shakes at my house.
I wish each of those drops of water wasn’t holding a color laser printer.
Why am I bothering with a blog? What makes me think there’s a single person out there who cares that my mind is a cesspool of indecision wallowing around in the terrarium of a sewerage tank called Earth. Who the hell cares? Somebody, PLEEEZE….flush the toilet bowl of life!
That’s how I woke up at 11pm after a whole 3 hours sleep.
This isn’t depression. I know what depression looks like–it’s the fog of gray following you around, drabbing down everything you see.
I’m entering into a basement full of horror movie sounds where the last step is a leap into a darkness containing no floor, ceiling or walls, only the sensation of sinking into a tar pit under a canopy of clouds on a moonless night as you’re waiting for whatever is creating the horror movie sounds to hurry up and devour you.
I think I’ve just rediscovered a new kind of, “What?” I’ll try to determine what “What?” is right after I survive this anxiety attack.