This might be because I’m still unemployed, but I’ve never been happier for a Monday to roll around. My entire weekend was one protracted anxiety attack, punctuated with a series of decisions that exasperated the situation until I found myself in the middle of the perfect storm of teenage angst and restless fear. I’m not even complaining; in fact I’m kind of impressed. Even now, whatever nameless part of the body that exists between my throat and my belly is positively humming with nervous energy. It’s like my chest cavity got sent to the principal’s office, and is currently sitting in the hall, nervously shifting its feet. I would say I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, but that’s happened so many times this weekend the phrase has lost any impact it once had.
Highlights of this weekend:
- Seeing Prometheus, really enjoying it, and then growing more and more angry as the weekend progressed.
- A wildly inappropriate joke accidentally sent to a friend's mother, which immediately led me to the conclusion that I can never go back to Portland. Villagers with torches would be waiting for me.
- A series of half-lucid fever dreams on Sunday that left me awake at 5am this morning, somehow even angrier about Prometheus.
I’m exhausted, and oddly feeling very strongly that my bed is untrustworthy. I’m going to sit here, eat my beans and my broccoli and look for jobs on the Internet. It’s either going to fade away entirely, or I’m going to become re-acquainted with this feeling. Either way I’m going to call it normalcy.
So, this is actually Diary of a Fat Man: Volume 99. While I don’t have much to show for it besides too many inside jokes, a bucketful of self-loathing and a long list of reasons why I shouldn’t be allowed in public, I’m in a vague state of impressed surprise. I didn’t really expect this to go on for more than a long weekend.