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November 03, 2003 - 4:29 p.m. You know that Far Side cartoon where the guy is being visited by the Chicken of Depression? I think the Chicken of Depression has taken up residence in my apartment and I don�t know why that fat, lazy cat of mine hasn�t made a 4 course meal out of him. Ungrateful beast. It�s amazing really, anything that could go wrong is. I don�t really mean the �big� things, though that shit ain�t been right in a loooong time, I mean the little, trivial, make you want to throw stuff across the room stuff. It�s amazing really; take the other day for example: I�m getting home from work, at 8.30 which is outrageous since my hours are 9-5:30 and I work for a non-profit, so it�s not like my time is money. Aaaaanyway, I get out of my car and go to unload the groceries and I�m struggling in the dark with all these bags�sinceI refuse to make more than one trip (Shout Out to Super Vague)�trying to get a handle on my keys and stumbling up the 3 flights of stairs to my apartment. I get the door open, dodge the cat that has launched himself at me as if he�s been alone for a month, try to keep from kicking, stepping on or otherwise injuring said animal as I tromp down the dark hallway to the kitchen. I dump all the bags down, step on the cat, apologize to the cat and gently remind him that he wouldn�t get stepped on if he didn�t hover under foot in the dark. I head to the bedroom in the back of my apartment to turn on the lights then back to the front of the apartment to turn on those lights�and then I smell it. That�s right, I�d stepped in dog crap getting out of my car and apparently the 3 flights of carpeted stairs and the doormat outside of my door weren�t enough to dislodge it, it�s now been tracked into EVERY room of my apartment. Little shiny splotches of essence of dog poo intermittently spaced between flecks of the solid matter ALL THROUGH MY APARTMENT. I had to go through the apartment with a flashlight, so I could see the telltale reflection that indicated the essence, a bottle of 409 and paper towels; shine the light at an angle, see the spot, spray, wipe, take a step, wash, rinse, repeat. Need I mention again, EVERY 12 INCHES IN EVERY ROOM and there was no guarantee that I got it all, so out comes the mop. Once that was completed, I decided that I�d make a baked potato for dinner and pour a big glass of wine in an effort to calm myself the fuck down. Microwave bongs (Bong, hee!), I go to get the potato out and somehow, most likely due to feline interference, I manage to drop the potato onto the floor�the recently DOG POO spotted floor�the potato, of course, explodes upon impact thus curtailing my chance at dinner. I believe it was at that point I took a page out of Grendel�s book, threw back my head and howled at the sky. Cut to a few days later, this past Friday to be exact, I�m walking through the Museum on my way to a staff birthday party and sort of stumble and *crack* off comes the heel on one of my boots; snapped in the middle it did and nearly sent me tumbling ass-over-teacup (Hellooo Googlers!) across the stone floor. The boots, with the 3 inch heels that I had purchased a mere 2 weeks prior, of course, now completely useless unless I was trying for a rather accurate impersonation of Igor from Young Frankenstein. Fantastic. I spent the rest of the day hobbling around like Pegleg Pete, festive you say? Why yes, yes it was, it was also extreeeemely irritating. The above are just a few examples of what�s shaking in my life. I�m not even going to go into the number of things I�ve dropped, had dropped on me, the toes stubbed, the nails painfully broken, the bruises received, the people who I don�t even know making me feel uncomfortable or unwelcome just by virtue of my being there, the general crappiness of things in general. I�m sick of this. I�m sick of all the little things going wrong and I�m sick of all the big things that refuse to get better. I�m tired, cranky and contemplating making chicken pot pie out of that damn bird that�s hovering over me. Watch out Beaky, I�ve got a butcher knife with your name on it. � Wondering:What is the best wine served with Chicken of Depression � la Monster?
Doing:Sitting very still.
Wishing:That this would stop already, I'm exhausted.
Travel back in time True Art - June 21, 2004
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