I owe an apology to several of my dear friends for the crazy voicemails, e-mails, texts, poorly wrapped packages on doorsteps, and maybe one partially assembled IKEA dog food dispenser for that friend who has a baby but no dog. You see, I had a few nights without sleep.
It’s not often that I suffer from insomnia. Occasionally, however, a goblin lands his antiquated treadmill in the middle of my brain and runs on that rusty bastard all night. Then I get a little crazy.
If I run errands on day four of goblin-induced cracked-outedness, it goes a little something like this: I decide it’s a good idea to go to K-Mart. There’s a young man there wearing a wolf t-shirt, skinny jeans, a bondage belt and Birkenstocks (that part is completely true). I wait in line for fifteen minutes to buy eight items. The cashier doesn’t apologize for removing five years from my life. I’m certain it’s a conspiracy between corporate America and patriarchal society to hold women down. I’m tempted to take off my bra and catch it on fire, but I realize I forgot to put on a bra before I left the house.
I think I see that the chick from Clarissa Explains it All in the parking lot. Holy crap, she has a lot of kids. Oh, that’s not Clarissa unless she’s suddenly become Asian. I spend five minutes thinking about TV shows that aren’t on anymore. Two full minutes are devoted to Rocko’s Modern Life.
My car is hot. I drive to Plum Market. I walk in and shout “I’ll never be what you are to me and what I am to you is a lie!” Someone in an apron offers me a cool glass of water and a strawberry. John Cleese steals my water. I kick him in the shins because that is how I deal with hurt feelings. I am asked to leave Plum Market for kicking John Cleese in the shins. I discuss the merits of low-residency MFA programs with the security guard who removes me from the store. We agree that I am not in a good place to make any life-altering decisions.
Next I go to Kroger. They have a Starbucks there. I suggest someone open a Chipotle within the Starbucks. The barista doesn’t seem interested. I’m certain my idea would change the path of his life. Is this what it is to be an ineffectual intellectual?
Long story short: I need to sleep more and there may or may not be a homeless man in my trunk. I’m afraid to look.