I wake up at 3am. My head hurts and I can’t sleep. I watch Tony Robbins sell confidence on the telly. The sun’s out by 5. Back in by 7. It’s gonna pour.
I’m on my way to work and notice I have on two different socks. Why am I wearing socks? I spend the day at my desk. For lunch I have three bananas and a cup of hot water. Because it’s there.
At 4 I notice my sweater is on backward. I right it at my desk. The Fedex man stares. I don’t care.
I leave work at 5. Trip over my own left foot three times. A chav shoves me at the station. “Sorry Love.” Blows smoke in my face. “Places to be.” I want something hard and flat and painful to hit him with. I feel like a Bret Easton Ellis novel.
An hour later I’m tired and anxious. I can’t wait to get home. Veg out over Cartman and Chianti. I say it out loud when I think it. “Ke-ANN-ti”. Like Lector. Just before he sautes Liotta’s lobes.
Cartoons always make me feel better. Fat kids and cheezy puffs.
I’m not answering the phone tonight.
It’s been one of those weeks…and I don’t know why.