WHERE'S MY DIET COKE?

It is entirely within the realm of possibility that I am just being overdramatic (or is that overly?). Lately, Janet complains of being light-headed and out of it. Note to self: check her blood pressure. But then again, she usually comes up with this as we are about to get into the car to go somewhere. Today, I am feeling faint, bereft, and tearful. Oh, did I mention thoroughly inadequate and overwhelmed? Over-demanded upon? To the point that even trying to focus on writing seems like too much. I always have somewhere else to be, something else do. I guess any degree of happiness, joy, and contentment are as far out of my reach as the American Dream. 

Well, we all know what a crock of shit that is, was, and ever shall be.

Sometimes, chatting with you grounds me. Today, I think I would sign up for annihilation if the pain wasn't too bad.

Oh, don't worry, I am not feeling at all self-destructive, just, you know those words: despondent, hopeless, crushed.

Some of it is the country we are now awake to. I was pretty sure we were headed that way when reality tv become so acceptable and lauded. That probably sounds radical and wait! overdramatic, but   such a celebration of the banal and crass seemed like a clear warning sign to me. 

But the depression and lethargy of my mother really doesn't help.

I feel dizzy myself. Unsure. Unable to operate heavy machinery like my life or anyone else's.

I try to shift my focus to the pretty flowers in the window boxes outside my desk. I did manage after years to get those installed. But wait! They need watering. Hell, I need watering. Where's my diet coke?

Maybe I need to cry out the poison.