Chronic Delirium

Don’t look at me like that! I see you there. No need to get all stuffy.

Your dismay hasn’t gone unnoticed. I know that I have, in fact, been ignoring you. Yes, I admit it! I’ve been spending the last 3 weeks walking right by you head tilted to the floor opposite your direction intentionally. Its not my proudest of moments but can’t you understand that I’m busy? Well…. maybe busy is not the right word. But definitely distracted. Distracted enough Not to want to deal with you right now.

I realized it was a problem last week when my only options for matching tennis socks were the vintage wool ones I’ve had since my 16th birthday when I went through that weird sunscreen and socks obsession. Thinking about it in retrospect, with this BA in Psych of mine that’s best being used to help my friends psycho-analyze their Friday night schemes, a sunscreen & sock obsession must be some sort of illness, right? I mean, If it isn’t… It fucking should be.

Regardless, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll get to you…eventually. But listen- guilt tripping me isn’t going to hurry the process along. In fact, I’m thinking of holding out another week just to prove a point. I’ve always been a woman of principle. It’s my style.

So you go with your dirty ass self. And linger in your own filth. Because I’m thinking that I might just not feel like dealing with you for another week, maybe two. The point is- don’t test me. Especially if you are, as I suspect, a physical manifestation of the shit accumulating in my life right now that I am avidly refusing to deal with. I get it. But can’t you get that my life is a fucking shit hole right now? That I’m stuck in the metaphoric version of the doo doo hole at Big Beach. My life circulating in a dirty crap pit, all the while surrounded by unimaginable beauty and grandeur, just beyond my reach and worse within my sight? Somehow I just keep getting caught up in this shit and I can’t seem to get out. It’s tragic really. The harder I try to force myself out, the deeper I get caught. It’s the way of shit, I guess.

So screw you- unearthly pile of dirty laundry! I see that you’ve already breached my 5 foot dresser holding u upright. But I just can’t deal right now, ok? I got bigger fish to fry… Like say, the BILL to that BA in Psych that’s best being used to psycho-analyze my messy friends. So you just chill- and wait your turn, because listen- if a sock & sunscreen obsession doesn’t warrant an illness, psycho-analyzing a pile of dirty laundry sure does.

Yeah- I’m loosing it. I’m definitely loosing it.