not as crazy as it sounds, promise.

You know how sometimes you’re sitting down watching TV or whatever? And you’re snacking on something? Not that you’re hungry exactly, but that repetitive hand-to-mouth motion has been going on for so long that it’s more work to stop than to just keep snacking. Eventually, if you keep snacking, you’ll get full, then maybe even nauseous, and then at some point you’ll remember how you have to wear that wedding dress in a few months, and if you keep shoving cheddar cheese and potato chips into your mouth you’ll probably look like crap. But that doesn’t stop you, because it’s the phenomenon of INERTIA at work.


The tendency of someone who is randomly snacking to keep randomly snacking. The tendency of a very bored person to stay bored.

Now this is a very real situation, one that took place last night while I was upset about That Of Which I Cannot Blog, but one that is also a metaphor for That Of Which I Cannot Blog.

The problem with me is that anything can set me off. Even if I weren’t having any other “situation”, the fact that I sat down last night and ate five hundred calories worth of cheese would be enough to send me flying off the handle about the wedding dress and the cake, which would lead to money, which would send me shrieking down the street because we can’t pay for our honeymoon.

But there’s not just the cheese. there’s also the insipid, unending, unyielding BOREDOM that permeates EVERY SECOND OF MY DAY.

And then I got in my car this morning to drive to work and was about to merge into the right lane when I noticed that my passenger side mirror was shattered. Someone must have sideswiped me last night, and in so doing broken the same mirror that I broke (and Katsumi subsequently fixed) back in August. So that’s the second sideswipe in as many weeks. After drinking myself into a stupor last night, staying up until 2am frantically wondering what the fuck I’m doing with my life, finally realizing the wisdom of the phrase “he who hesitates is lost”, then sleeping on the couch instead of my own bed and waking up with undereye bags the size of steamer trunks, it’s kind of a miracle I’m not at the bottom of the Charles right now.

Because a broken mirror’s the kind of shit that can really SEND a person, you know what I mean?

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