11.15.00
Wednesday

 
    Do you ever stop, I mean, really, really stop and think:  "How in the hell did I get to the place where I am right now?"  I mean, just stop and wonder how the fuck your life got to its current level?
    I did that for the first time in a long, long time last night, as I was standing in line at Arby's by myself around 10 pm, right after saying "Could I have a Chicken Cordon Bleu Combo please?"   I think it was the fluorescent lights that made the situation seem more surreal and crazy. In that brief second, I almost cried.  I couldn't believe I was standing there, doing what I was doing, that that was truly my life.  I'd been walking around the Village for hours, and just felt like getting some Arby's.  So i just went over. It was cold out, and I'd been walking around for a few hours, and all i wanted in the world was some curly fries.  And goddamit, for the first time in a long time I got exactly what I wanted, exactly when I wanted it.  So despite the grander life-implications, that was a pleasant moment yesterday.
    Ok, in all honesty, that was the pleasant moment of yesterday. Really.

    I watched Fight Club again the other night.  It's all starting to make more sense to me now.
 
 

someting else:
 
 

    This morning on the subway -how odd, I was just reading an entry at Dear World that mentioned the subway in the second section- I saw the saddest thing I'd seen in a long, non-reflective time.  I was sitting down, and about 10 feet from me was the largest man I've ever seen on the subway.  He was so big that he took up two seats, to the point where the person in the third seat even had to move over a bit to accomodate this behemoth.  And do you know what this obscenely obese man was doing?  He was stuffing his face with a bagel full of cream cheese.  Now I realize this man probably has a whole host of physical and mental issues, but I could not believe my fucking eyes.  Seriously, I sat there with my mouth agape for minutes, with this shocked look on my face. i didn't even realize what I was doing till the third subway stop.  The man was sitting there with his eyes closed, and every bite he took seemed to be causing him great pain, like he was already so full of cream cheese that he practically needed a ram-rod to get every ounce of food down there.  The part where I absolutely wanted to scream "Please, just stop!" was when he started licking his fingers, then proceeded to scrap the huge dollop of cream cheese off the paper and lick it off his index finger.  I kid you not, I really, truly, almost cried. It was so fucking sad.  Then he just sat there with his eyes closed and shoved the other half in his face.  When he was done, he crumpled up the paper into a ball, but then he accidentally dropped it on the floor.  He initially lunged after it, but when it was out of his reach, he really struggled to get up and grab his debris. Which he did.  After much Chris Farley-esque histrionics.  I actually started to tear up.  I felt so fucking bad for this guy.

    I guess I just defeated validity of my bitching with the story about the fat guy.  Bad in a literary way, but good in a perspective setting way.  But I still feel really poopy.  It's been a bad fucking two days.  Really, really bad. I've been trying to believe what this fortune teller told me in July.  But I still feel like I'm losing it.  If you're lucky, you may actually be able to witness my unravelling online.  Sanity comes and goes. Ego remains -tenuously- intact.
 

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