Wednesday, September 22, 2004

A Drunken Sobriety

My mind is hazy today. Sometimes I feel like my brain is a miniature Los Angeles. A thick marine layer obscures the details of my thoughts. Or, a rainstorm exposes a beauty previously hidden beneath a coat of filth and grime.

I'm not quite myself today. It's hard to explain. I feel like I'm watching myself from the corner of the room. I feel like I'm in a police interrogration room and my thoughts are chatting on the other side of the two-way mirror. All I can see is my own reflection, no matter how hard I try to figure out what's going on beyond the glass.

I'm in a haunted house with myself today. I can't figure out what's up and what's down. Everything is clumped together and I'm supposed to unstick everything with my hands tied behind my back.

I'm so frustrated. I feel like I'm locked out of my own head. If every mind is a house, I'm running around the outside of my house, trying to find an open window. The shades are all drawn and I can only see the muted glow of lights on inside. (Ha, someone's home.)

My thoughts are so cyclical, like a dog chasing its own tail. I'm not getting any answers or conclusions. Just thinking the same thoughts over and over again in a million different ways without any resolution. It's like endlessly stirring a soup that would taste just as good if it was left alone to simmer.

I'm jittery too. I feel like some kind of heroin addict desperately in need of another hit. Either that or an overworked nurse sipping a crappy cup of hospital coffee that's been sitting on the burner too long, dreading going back to cranky and uncomfortable patients.

Today is one of those days. It's hard to be productive in any meaningful way. It's the perfect day to clean or do laundry, to distract yourself with mindless tasks.

String enough of these days together, and soon life becomes a mindless task.