stand

stand

I can tell based on my inebriation and catching glimpses of myself in the rearview mirror talking aloud, lips moving, no one else in the car, that I should disable comments, because not only am I approaching MOOD, but I have artificially induced it, much like a shot of Pitocin to my cerebral cortex, in a rage because my happy tank has been just right of half-full for damn near a week now, when really all I want in life is balance. The resulting illness of this intentional delirium, like all affected breast-beating is nonsense, in every sense of the word: ridiculous, confusing and entirely unneeded. Oxytocin, incidentally, characterized by the counterintuitive ability of producing BOTH love and tolerance to pain in lab rats.

Look, God, I promise NO MORE BARTERING, if you would just return me to that angry/depressed state interrupted with mere periods of partial sunny, so that I might have some inspiring words, not for the electronic masses, mind you, because where have they been all my life, and where will they be come April, but ME! I live in my head with one other person, and he has been woefully, steadfastly, painstakingly boring. Of late.

THIS is what happens when a bit too much happiness arrives, a few
too many things actually go your way, a little too hard on the erections, a little too long on the climaces, a little too mellow on the buzz: I wind up giving myself the gift of itch.

On Saturday I attended one of those Winter Celebration Type Things
in the park, the mass of people in holiday garb and fare bumping well fed elbows and shoulders, the reek of apple cider permeating the viewpiece, the laughter of children when falling out of step in their Christmas Bell assignments, and I honestly looked at these folks and felt like running as far away as I possibly could. Except there was the entirety of my immediate and extended family, bared teeth grinning like bears and happy and in the SPIRIT, and where could I run? I was the only one in the entire city unsatisfied with my GPS coordinates, on the eve of celebrating the birth of their savior, with whom I share a Zodiac sign, an occasional outburst of facial hair and an overwhelming desire to turn the water to wine.

The whole thing is very complex.