I've been away. I'll tell you all about it soon. But for now...
As it turns out Im okay. (Of course we have yet to define, Okay) The close encounter with the Liquid Plumber was another savage lie. A ploy. A play for legitimacy. A last ditch attempt to find courage. My lawyers in the process of prosecuting as we speak, on your behalf. Any legal fees incurred will of course be paid by me. Ive been instructed to lay off the juice under pain of death. Of course Caldwell of all people should know the futility of this threat. Needless to say our meeting yesterday was an exercise in idiocy. I gave him a gram of coke, two joints and a sixer of Schlitz. He proceeded to give me dietary advice. Im now on a steady diet of green tea, Hope Sandoval and fresh fruit. And! Under no circumstances, am I to eat Broccoli, which he states is a major factor in the cause of Depression. Follow this, he said, and youll be happy in no time at all. I thanked him profusely, grabbed my sixer back and ran down the hall. He of course called me an indian giver and shot me in the back with that accursed BB gun of his. Luckily I was wearing my leather vest which aside from being a fashion faux pas works well as a BB proof vest.
When I got home I explained all of this to Hector and he asked me if I had ever thought about seeking professional help. What do you mean? I asked. Why do you ask me that?
Well. He said, You are talking to a roach.
It was undeniable. He had a point here. Perhaps I had really lost my mind. It was this realization that sent me into a very dark place. I became so depressed that I could hardly breath. There was no doubt in my mind, where ever it was, that there was an incubus couched in my heart. His dank mouth was open, and he perched over my throat, stealing the air. I can barely bare the weight. I said. The murk and muck...
Hector wiggled his antennae and asked me again if I had ever sought help and I said yes. Once about four years ago I was convinced that I was going to die. I kept waking up in the middle of the night with these chest pains. It was a fear that grew into a paranoia and then into an obsession. Convinced that I was having heart attacks I went to the Doctor. After an hour and a half of cardiograms and interviews the Doctor looked at me and said,
Your fine. Theres nothing wrong with your heart.
Thats what you think. I said. I couldnt believe him. Whats wrong with me, then? I asked.
I dont know. He said. Its probably anxiety.
But Im not an anxious person, I said. Im more of a depressive.
He shrugged his shoulders as if to say, I dont know what to say. He then said, Maybe you should stop reading the papers.
I never did pay for that visit.
As it turns out Im okay. (Of course we have yet to define, Okay) The close encounter with the Liquid Plumber was another savage lie. A ploy. A play for legitimacy. A last ditch attempt to find courage. My lawyers in the process of prosecuting as we speak, on your behalf. Any legal fees incurred will of course be paid by me. Ive been instructed to lay off the juice under pain of death. Of course Caldwell of all people should know the futility of this threat. Needless to say our meeting yesterday was an exercise in idiocy. I gave him a gram of coke, two joints and a sixer of Schlitz. He proceeded to give me dietary advice. Im now on a steady diet of green tea, Hope Sandoval and fresh fruit. And! Under no circumstances, am I to eat Broccoli, which he states is a major factor in the cause of Depression. Follow this, he said, and youll be happy in no time at all. I thanked him profusely, grabbed my sixer back and ran down the hall. He of course called me an indian giver and shot me in the back with that accursed BB gun of his. Luckily I was wearing my leather vest which aside from being a fashion faux pas works well as a BB proof vest.
When I got home I explained all of this to Hector and he asked me if I had ever thought about seeking professional help. What do you mean? I asked. Why do you ask me that?
Well. He said, You are talking to a roach.
It was undeniable. He had a point here. Perhaps I had really lost my mind. It was this realization that sent me into a very dark place. I became so depressed that I could hardly breath. There was no doubt in my mind, where ever it was, that there was an incubus couched in my heart. His dank mouth was open, and he perched over my throat, stealing the air. I can barely bare the weight. I said. The murk and muck...
Hector wiggled his antennae and asked me again if I had ever sought help and I said yes. Once about four years ago I was convinced that I was going to die. I kept waking up in the middle of the night with these chest pains. It was a fear that grew into a paranoia and then into an obsession. Convinced that I was having heart attacks I went to the Doctor. After an hour and a half of cardiograms and interviews the Doctor looked at me and said,
Your fine. Theres nothing wrong with your heart.
Thats what you think. I said. I couldnt believe him. Whats wrong with me, then? I asked.
I dont know. He said. Its probably anxiety.
But Im not an anxious person, I said. Im more of a depressive.
He shrugged his shoulders as if to say, I dont know what to say. He then said, Maybe you should stop reading the papers.
I never did pay for that visit.