My anxiety is creeping in. I can’t breathe. Are there spiders crawling on the frame of my 50″ Sony Bravia TV? Are they lizards? No one will ever know. I can’t see them. Can they? I find three Xanax pills strategically hidden under my 4th copy of this month’s Sport’s Illustrated magazine. Stumbling into the bathroom I slip and hit my head on the edge of the sink. Piss. A small puddle of piss I notice overwhelms the floor around the toilet. Luckily when I looked at my hand, the Xanax pills were still intact.
Why did my jar of granola bars spill? Who was watching over them? I need a new charger for my iPhone.
I got a small paper cup from the cupboard. I filled the cup with water. I swallowed the pills and await the relief. How long will they take to work? Why did that man from the homeless shelter stab that white male Jew 24 times in the chest?
The pills are working. I grab a large glass of rye whiskey, the whisky matured in oak casks for over two years. Aliens. Who knew Archie Bunker would become the most popular TV character of all time? Jerry Seinfeld runs the Illuminati? Apples run faster when the lights are out.
I am looking at my brain.
Last week at the grocery store I walked up and down the meat isle 53 times. There were exactly 39 packages of honey roasted turkey. Why? Are there enough people on this Monday morning in the city that will consume that much honey roasted turkey? Stomach pain. Sharp, shooting pain is now hitting my kidneys. I need Pepto-Bismol. Crawling out of the grocery store in a pool of my own vomit partially made up of left-over lobster tail and kale leaves, I leave my cart full of meat at the checkout. I have no time to pay for such items. I should invest in Tic Tacs. I recorded Rules of Engagement. David Spade is the most underrated comedic genius to ever walk the planet. Walking home, I find a half-smoked joint thrown away by a fake homeless fuck. I duck into the closest alley behind a dumpster and shove the half-smoked joint up my ass.
At home, Sesame Street is playing on my TV. How did I get here? Oscar the Grouch used to be orange. A broken heart is blind. I can feel the pressure building. There are more reruns of Seinfeld to watch. The anxiety is beginning to win and take over. There is a pile of lost wishes buried under the Saved By the Bell DVDs. Who are you? Why are you here?
There was a lost identity. Who is that? Why did I become this involved? Why did the walls melt?
Stop following me.
There they are.
There were so many pumpkins exploding I only thought to take cover under the nearest tent. The Hoover Dam was invented and is controlled by aliens. Why did I smoke so much rum with only a dry rub? How am I supposed to boil in your eyes? Cheesecake sounds delicious.