The Obscure

Pure Unadulterated Misery

Sometimes I fancy myself an intelligent man, but then days like this roll along and I realize that I have been as dumb as nails the whole time; I just wasn't smart enough to figure it out sooner.
Me and my decimated blue-jeans will live to fight another day; but will you, my sparkling, sequined lover?
Welcome to the house of the inane! Where anything can happen, but usually doesn't. Once inside, you'll begin to lose large pieces of your memory and you will start to exhibit symptoms of a disease I have come to know as "psychonostalgicwhineadrosis."
Things will remind you of other things, small fractions of depressing poetry will constantly pour through your mind like oil into the famed Iowa Oil Duct, and every man, woman, and child you come across will suddenly become appealing in some strange and sadistic way.
Yes, it is a hard life; a hard-KNOCK life. But it is the life we have chosen. We, the Discombobulators of Man. We, the few who stand against the enormous, tumultous, crashing wave of chaotic normalcy that could break through and destroy mankind's god-given right to unhappiness in a single splat. I understand full well that it is an impossible task, that for every person we convert to our peculiar strain of insanity there are thousands who walk across the earth with confidence and ease; or worse, a smile on their face. But we fight on nonetheless! We are the few, the proud, the Obsessive Journal Writers. And brother, we will whine and moan and even BITCH at you, if necessary, until you are in a thoroughly disagreeable mood and don't want to talk pleasantly to anybody; because by GOD, it is our job.

Uhh.. Let's see, what else is on my mind? I know that I was thinking about something...
Oh yes! I hate myself and I want to die! Now I'm having seizures again and I'm NOT on any psych meds, so I'm as crazy as all hell again, AND my central nervous system is falling to ugly electrified pieces at an alarming rate.
What else, what else?
Oh yeah! My brother-in-law needed to borrow my truck for an extended period of time because his van is out of commission! The fact that he is borrowing it doesn't bother me, of course, it couldn't possibly. But it does leave me with the funny little problem of not having a la mode of transportation.
It does sound like a deliciously tempting lack of transportation though, doesn't it?