Coffee Rhetoric: neurosis
Showing posts with label neurosis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label neurosis. Show all posts

August 11, 2008

Toxic

Today, the weather was this strange amalgamation of rain, humidity, cool air, and sun. While the humidity wasn't oppressive as there was enough cool air to present a healthy balance, I was overheating, however. I've always had a tendency to overheat, which is why my body doesn't respond well to any level of humid air... low, moderate, or high. I pick up on it right away. I remember once, as an adolescent, urinating and seeing steam come out of the toilet bowl. I was mortified. I thought something was terribly wrong with me! Or the one time, in high school, I tried to be a good humanitarian and donate blood to the American Red Cross... but couldn't because I had a temperature. I sat there for about 45 minutes eating free cookies and sucking down several small boxes of cold grape juice, a desperate bid to lower my temperature... to no avail. I still had a slight temperature. And the woman who took my temperature shrugged and said, "Sorry, we can't allow you to give blood." "But I'm not sick!" I exclaimed. Dejected, I shuffled out of auditorium, jealous of the people walking around school that day with I Gave Blood stickers worn proudly on their shirts. I felt like a rejected applicant from an exclusive club.
Today my body heat overwhelmed me. I sweated, I fanned myself, I splashed cold water on my face, stuck my head underneath the powerful new hand dryer installed in the restroom at work. Nothing. Seems the older I get, the hotter I feel. I am NOT looking forward to menopause.
Anysteam, while on the bus ride home, I sat directly in front of a woman who yapped on her mobile phone incessantly and loudly. Which only exacerbated my body's rising temperature- (perhaps this was psychological, but the more agitated I grew by this woman's intrusive behavior on my solitude, I swear the hotter I became)- I hastily stuck my ear buds in and turned up the music uploaded on my cell phone's mp3 player. I felt triumphant... until a warm cloud of toxic air wafted up front and bitch-slapped me on my left cheek.
Not only was the woman running her gob loudly right behind me ... but her breath reeked of a pile of hot, steaming shit. No other way to describe it. Suddenly the chocolate and coffee cheese cake I scarfed down from the Cheesecake Factory right before leaving work, started rumbling in the pit of my stomach and threatened to spew forth, like brown tidal wave all over the guy nursing his crutches in front of me. Fortunately I choked it down and held it together. Thoughts of Scwhepps Ginger Ale and hot chai tea danced in my head.
Finally Dragon Breath got ended her conversation and got off the bus. Those were the longest ten minutes I've ever had to endure.
On a totally separate and unrelated note, I'm interested in reading this book...

August 10, 2008

I'm Still Waiting...

... I haven't exhaled in about a week. Waiting can be exciting. But it's also one of the most nerve-wracking feelings and can exacerbate feelings of anxiety and indigestion. I'm not gonna exhale until I hear. ...

August 02, 2008

Closer

So, it turns out- (says the nice lady, whose cute lil condo is up for rent)- that I have to pass muster with a Condo Association. Her words exactly? "Hi Coffey, this is Condo Owner. I'm just calling to touch base with you about the apartment. The contractor is coming and the flooring and everything else should be finished by Monday."
"Sounds great!" I said.
"You just need to get approved by the condo association. They will do a background check and then I will call you and let you know for certain!"
Suddenly I got a horrible case of bubble guts.
"Oh, okay. Thanks for calling. Talk to you soon"
I chimed in, optimism holding on for dear life... or at least until the end of the phone call. You know that scratched/broke record sound effect one hears when "Fer sure!" turns to "Maybe?" Yes. That's the sound I heard in my head. Background check? While I have no criminal history to speak of, one never knows what a background check will produce. It's always nerve-wracking to have strangers poking around in your history. Things can be misconstrued! They can pass judgment over a simple misunderstanding! My neuroses knows no bounds. I am a worrier. I tend to think the worse. I understand that certain communities want to make sure they aren't residing in close quarters with pieces of trash. Either way, I feel so close yet sooo far away suddenly from my goal suddenly. Getting close and then having the rug yanked as I approach my destination, seems par for the course with me, sometimes. I'm hopeful. I. am. hopeful. Next week will dictate yay or nay.
On a completely random note, I received and obscene call at work Thursday. The appetizer to the main course, yes. The man's voice was rich. It was deep. It was Barry White sexy in its PROFESSIONAL and inquiring tone. As the conversation went downhill, however, that voice suddenly became lecherous. Skeevy in its interrogation...
"Hi, I'm looking for information on Such and Such Organization. Do you know anything about that?"
"Hm." I replied thoughtfully, "I'm not sure I have that info on hand. Let me ask around for you. You mind holding for one quick second?"
"Not at all, with your PLEASANT sounding self." his deep voice oozed. "You sound sooo nice and pllleasant." he breathed.
"Thanks. Anyway, give me a second." I said, taken aback but still trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism.
Needless to say, no one had the answers I sought for this voice over the phone.
"I'm sorry, but I don't have information on the Such and Such Organization. We don't really work directly with them. And the person who MAY be able to help you is currently in a meeting."
I considered offering him some other alternatives. But then...
"Mmmmm" he moaned. "So you don't have a phone number I could reach them at...?"
"No, I don't. Sorry." I said, growing a little impatient (I had to use the restroom) and wanting to end the call, for I sensed it was about to take a strange turn... right smack dab in a gutter littered with used condoms, smashed ciggie butts, and a pair of dirty, ripped panties. Hmmm... are those undulating bodies I see pressed up against the brick wall??
"hmmm, mmm..."
he moaned some more.
"... Okay... ummm, can I ask you a question... oh my god..."
he moaned in that deep voice... "
"Do you LOOK as good as you sound?"
Suddenly I got a visual of this man, shut in his office, sitting behind a desk grimacing and leaning back in his chair... slowly unzipping his trousers... A co-worker appeared at my desk, and noticed the alarm on my face...
"Um, anyway, so yeah. bye!"
I said and hung up abruptly. I relayed the strange call to her and she let out a raucous laugh.
"You know you enjoyed it!" she teased.
"Um, perhaps I would have in the privacy of my own home. But not at my JOB!"
I shot back. ... Ironically enough, I watched Girl 6 last night. So in any event, my fingers are crossed and hopefully I will enjoy an obscene phone call or two, in the privacy of my new apartment? Perhaps the call and then last night's movie are positive signs?
Okay I'm reaching. ...

May 31, 2008

Sucio

Yours truly was enjoying a delectable Chocolate Lava Cake, garnished with candied walnuts, a side of vanilla gelato, and a sprig of fresh mint- at one of my favorite eateries during my lunch hour, when a Caucasian Man of Slight Build and with dark hair, walked in and sat at the bar. Upon settling in ... about three chairs away from me, he ordered a "coffee with Bailey's," in a brusque, yet familiar voice. I was caught up in the rapture of my delicious dessert, the stresses of work and workplace rivalries forgotten in that moment of space and time, so I didn't notice Man of Slight Build's lunch companion. Suddenly, I heard the trendy and very blond restaurant hostess cooing. "Ohhhh, you're sooooo cute. You're such a gooood boooy." Then I looked up. ... There, on M.O.S.B. 's lap was a Yorkie, small enough to travel in a Louis Vuitton pet tote.... naked, exposed, and out in the open, in an eating establishment, no less. Suddenly my neuroses started to kick in. My mind raced!
"IS THAT EVEN LEGAL??? TO HAVE AN ANIMAL, IN AN EATING AND DRINKING ESTABLISHMENT???? THERE ARE TABLES SET UP OUTSIDE! WHY ISN'T HE OUT THERE ENJOYING HIS SPIKED COFFEE???!!! THE WEATHER IS WONDERFUL! GO OUTSIDE!" It screamed. Repulsed, I slowly and calmly put my dessert fork down. Just then, M.O.S.B.'s coffee with Bailey's arrived, topped off with a heaping mountain of whipped cream.
Another blond waitress came over and cooed some more. "Ohhh, you're sooo cuuuute! You loooove daddy, don't you???" she said, as she massaged the area behind its pert ears.
"I EFFING HOPE SHE WASHES HER HANDS THOROUGHLY, WITH SOAP AFTER THIS!!!"
My mind screamed. "He only likes filet mignon, steak, and chicken," M.O.S.B. opined, smugly. "I don't see the point in giving him regular dog food. It's all oats and grain and animals don't really live off of that," He continued. For I'm assuming he believes his little furry cretin only deserves the best. To punctuate his point, M.O.S.B. scooped up a dollop of whipped cream and fed it to his little beloved. The dog lapped and licked his master's finger greedily. "Yeah, daddy's not supposed to feed whipped cream to you, right?" The bar patron cooed to his lap dog. After a period of time, the man told his little pocket pooch that there was no more whipped cream to be lapped, because it was "aaaaaall gone." I eventually returned to my dessert, chocolate ecstasy triumphing and overwhelming my brief feelings of disgust.

April 08, 2008

In Which Coffey Learns

During these stuffy sinused, work filled and busy days, I've finally had the opportunity to reflect on conversations heard whle out and circumstances I've run across. I've been taken to school, if you will. Inadvertent lessons taught to moi. As my ears pop and my nasal passages clear up, I'm suddenly awash in a brilliant sea of clarity. I've realized, in this current cult of personality, that people will simply continue to be themselves in all their loud, stank, uncouth glory. Bad, ugly, unhygenic, and overwhelmingly raunch. This much I know is true. I realize that people have no qualms about boarding the bus, early in the AM, taking their seat, and then breathing heavily... their breath reeking of jungle rot or hot garbage on a particularly humid day. I can sit here and ask the universe whether it's too much to ask or wish for certain people to floss, brush or scrape their tongue, gargle and take it to the back, perhaps pop a mint before venturing out into the world... But why bother? The answer is yes, it is too much to ask. And so I suffer silently. Fate decreed that this is the cross I must bear sans questions. I also learned while en route to the mall (on the bus of course)- this past Saturday, that a young Hispanic lass I'll call Romeo (all of maybe 16 years old) was headed in my direction to meet Lissette. Lissette, apparently, was going to meet Romeo at the mall, so that he could "fuck her." ... "Yeah," proclaims Romeo to his buddy, "Lissette's gonna meet me there so I can fuck her." To which his friend replied with a spitty chuckle/chortle combo. Ahhh, I learn something new every single day. Is this what young people do now? Do they have trysts at the mall?? Whatever happened to sitting in the dark, at the back of the theater? Or going to the park after dusk? Folks our future depends on these very same young people. In which case, I'd rather not be cryogenically frozen. I'll just go head and rot. I also learned that a mall is NOT the place to be on a Saturday afternoon, with a sinus infection. It was hot, it was extremely crowded, and I couldn't concentrate for I found myself wondering about Romeo and Lissette. I didn't want to run into them in some sort of compromising position. Speaking of young people, I also learned that in their quest for fame, they like to videotape themselves beating the living daylights out of some poor unsuspecting victim, in hopes of uploading it on YouTube. Yup, don't freeze me, just burn me and throw my ashes in the nearest ocean. Life's little lessons can be a bit overwhelming when swallowed whole sometimes. Now pardon me while I go wait for my food to digest ...

January 31, 2008

Diary of an Insomniac

Work, drop some Visine, keep busy to avoid nodding, moodiness, irritability sans reason, multiple bathroom breaks, coffee, coffee sludge, more coffee, water, hard candy, lemonade, vitamins, home, eat, tv, more tv, read, eyes wide open into the wee hours, close eyes for a couple of hours, wake up, channel surf half heartedly, fall asleep, wake up two hours later, massage swollen feet, iron out kinks in neck and back, shuffle to the shower, shuffle through the morning, rush to the bus stop, rush to work, Work, drop some Visine, keep busy to avoid nodding, high strung, sudden burst of energy, candy coffee, powdered lemonade mix, erotic day dreams, burning eyes, blow nose, eat almonds, drink more coffee, ... wine, coffee, coffee, wine, hallucinate, doze, wake up with a jolt, doze, watch infomercials, doze, doze... sleep, wake up 2 hours later, shuffle... doze... work... coffee... .... .... Visine, Advil, Pamprin, coffee, heavy lids, tea, news, infomercials, unintelligible, snooze button, thoughts wont be quiet. ... heavy lids... heavy. thtoughs. wont. be. QUIET. lids. thoughts... heavy lids... thoughts wont be quiet... ... ... pass out fully clothed, not having washed face. wake up at 3 AM, pajamas, wake up hour 1/2 later... heavy. lids. lids. SNOOZE, BUTTON, .. .... coffee. ... ... auto pilot. *yawwwwwn* coffee.... vit.a.mins ... autopilot.

January 26, 2008

Personal Space Invasion Syndrome (PSIS)

I've been documenting the crazy on here since about 2004. I think regular readers (assuming people have been following this blog for that long)- probably are hip to the fact that I am a self-described neurotic with a smattering of germaphobia and a dollop of obssessive behavior (i.e. where I place items in my personal space matters, as I insist things be placed a certain way, and that they're neat and organized). And while this much I know is in fact true, my quirkiness has not prompted any need for prescriptions used to combat any anxiety or psychotic episodes. In summation, I'm a relatively normal person- (considering the levels of actual weirdness festering out there)- who is slightly askew. I pump a celebratory fist at my eccentricities and don't plan on changing any time soon. No one's infallible. And for those acting like they are... you all need to cut it out. The prologue aside, if there's one thing I cannot stand, it is when people (particularly those not close with or familiar to me) invade and tamper with my personal space and belongings without my permission. Close talkers (if I back up a couple of inches... please don't move forward to close the already small gap)- If you don't come in a wine glass, we aren't about to kiss, or about to engage in relations... there's no need for anybody to be 2 inches away from my mouth, beyond the standard (6 to 8 sq ft), conversational closeness. I think violating someone's space; adjusting and taking other people's things without asking is rude, discourteous, and disrespectful... particularly if you're the type of person who resents having your things tampered with and especially if it's within the context of a communal (i.e. work) environment, where the majority of the space is already shared, to begin with. It's almost as if certain people feel as if they're entitled to behave this way, or they have the right to impose their tastes by strongly suggesting a person should rearrange things to look a particular way other than how they choose have it set up. I mean, you listen and humor people afflicted with PSIS by saying, "Oh okay, that sounds nice. But I think I'll just leave it like this" and they're adamant about trespassing, like an uninvited guest who insinuates him/herself into your home, rearranges the furniture, and uses your toothbrush! You can see their sweaty fingers and palms wiggling with the desire to touch your stuff. To rearrange, to fix and fuck everything up... making you ready to sling some pimp slaps. These people, who like to stand shoulder to shoulder, toe-to-toe... so close that you feel a little of their spittle spray your face during conversation. Making you shudder with disgust, also prompting you to tap your foot uncomfortably, to swallow hard, and blink furiously to keep from going nuts. People, listen, regardless of how crazy this rant may seem, this type of bahavior is definitely a spatial DON'T. I think we've gotten too comfortable in this current cult of personality. Manners are a thing of the past. We live in a culture that divulges TMI about bowel movements, itchy delicates, and explicit sexploits (some great to listen to, some not so sexy), where people will grope, expose themselves or rub up against strangers, and where people think it's okay to invade... to bully their way into someone else's orbit, scattering forces messing up the alignment of your small planets. All it does is create tension, anger, and more neuroses to grapple with. How difficult is it to be respectful of other people's space and property? It's not. Some concepts are fundamental and implicit. So back the hell up and keep hulking figure and hands off of other people's sphere, unless invited. That's it.

January 23, 2008

No Love

Amidst all the chaos, the trials and tribs, my fall and subsequent rise. In the crux of my moving, job hunting, cursing my bad luck, finally starting and now settling into a new job, apartment hunting, contemplation, absorption, ups and downs... In the midst of this egomaniacal reverie... I haven't, not once, entertained the thought of dating, men, signiffy others, sex or lack thereof, or the joys of digital manipulation, even. It has been awhile since I've lamented over my solitary confinement. I haven't thought about ghosts from my pasts at all. They've all become nameless, insubstantial phantoms. I don't wonder what they're doing, I don't care where they are. I don't remember how they look, smell, how much they got on my nerves. What they did to make me sigh with resignation. No dating... away with the online dating profiles, peer to peer contact, considering dating prospects, making eye contact and averting my gaze right before something clicks... all of these things have become my current reality. Because I haven't thought about it until this second, none of it has really mattered or made me feel any self-loathing and self-pity. Oh, I've become quite used to my aloof and cold nature and have settled into my chilly exterior (my interior is quite warm). I honestly don't know what to make of it really. I'm neither pleased with myself or unhappy about how self contained and focused I am. Once things have quieted down, only time will tell what the dating future will conjure up. What creatures will come slithering out from under their moist rock, which normal, sane, handsome gentlemen will take me off guard in spite of myself or what embarrassing yet salacious fodder I'll feed to the masses (or perhaps keep to myself). ... Only time will tell. I am ready for another adventure abroad... this much I know is true.

December 13, 2007

First Born Second

"I was born as a second child. All I got was hand-me-downs. All that is what was left..." Bilal, from his debut album, First Born Second
Psychiatrist and theorist, Alfred Adler has surmised that the order in which one is born, influences their personality. That order can have leave an indelible impression on that sibling's quality of life and the way in which they cope with life's trials and tribulations. Of course many psychologists of yore and today dispute Adler's suggestions on birth order. I was born right smack-dab in the midst of the madness. A middle child. Introspective, mercurial, passionate, self absorbed, creative, sensitive, aloof, stoic, an aversion to being told what to do by my mother sometimes/but clinging and crying to her other times (preferably in the absence of my sisters). I've been spending a lot more time with my immediate family amidst my transitional phase, and I've never been more aware of where I fall in the triad my mother has created, as I have been recently. Middle Child Syndrome, it has been christened. Regardless of how people cope with being the second born, the syndrome feels very real to many of us middlers. A feeling of being somewhat solitary and misunderstood. Alone in my philosophies and ways of thinking and living, a sense of feeling undermined or disputed, fighting to be heard over competing voices, wanting to be left alone, creative, artistic, caught between a rock and a hard place, sometimes wanting to slip under the radar, a bit eccentric and self contained ... While theories abound on Middle Child Syndrome and we all cope differently with being wedged in between two siblings, it is a rather interesting and complex situation to deal with sometimes. I suddenly feel compelled to delve deeper into the order of such things in order to figure out some things about myself. I suddenly feel a deep empathy for Jan Brady.

November 20, 2007

The Cure

I'm OMing the pressure off of my chest... Whenever I breathe in, it's reminiscent of weight lifting a heavy barbell and the back of my shoulder pops with each deep breath I pull in.

November 18, 2007

Regression

I'm regressing. And I don't like it one bit. I'm struggling not to go back to black. Not to become morose again. The impending gloom is hovering like a dark cloud and I'm tempted to just stand there and wait for the downpour and risk getting soaked, because I'm tired. The fatigue feels like a heavy weight on my chest and it's constricting my air flow. Literally and figuratively, I cannot breathe. I inhale and then I exhale and I can't seem to catch my second breath... because of the pressure on my chest. Destructive thoughts are starting to dance around tauntingly in my mind... causing my soul to scream in frustration. I'm hard on myself. Am a perfectionist of sorts and when I don't triumph in some way, shape, or form... I become self contained. ... And it's maddening. It's masochistic, because I take solace in being withdrawn... Ugh and I'm effing sick of being sullen! I do realize that people live lives that're far worse than my own... but narcissism and self absorbency has dictated that I am entitled to feel this way! I have a right to be a sullen, sour woman... but I HATE it!
I've managed to smile through it and roll with the punches. Smile graciously when advised "Oh, you'll get through it. Things will work out." When I really wanna shout, "Fuck off! Easy for YOU to say, you aren't in my shoes!" Even though I know friends and family are just trying to stay optimistic for me. And are worried about me. Uncompromising situations usually roll off my back like hot butter on a biscuit, but I get overwhelmed. I got overwheeeelmed. A couple of days ago upon returning home from the store... I put my bags down in my small (soon to be history) kitchenette. I didn't even remove my coat. I started sobbing from the impact of the onslaught. I smeared meticulously applied black eye-liner and mascara. The tears fell down my face, rested on my lips and mixed with my brownie cream lip gloss. I clenched my fists and avoided another one of those angry moments where I smash things in a blind rage... and then realize what I've done after coming out of that haze of anger... regretting ruining my stuff. I sat down. Money, men, wish washy personalities, not knowing, knowing, intuition, paranoia, the struggle ... sometimes it's too much. I cursed under my breath. And then I picked up the cell phone and called my sister...

September 19, 2007

Lucky Days

As if it's even possible, I've found yet another way to be eccentric.
I'm finding that I wont wake up, unless the digital "hand", if you will, on the clock, strikes number thirteen after the hour. Sounds strange, I know. But, I sleep with a deck of Ryder-Waite tarot cards under my pillow (wrapped in cloth) so bear (left) with me. In any event, my theory is if I wake up on the 13th minute after every hour, I'll have a decent day or that some semblance of luck will strike. So instead of waking up at 6:00, I'll hit the Snooze button and lay there until 6:13. At times, I've taken to setting at least one of my alarm clocks (I set at least 3, one of which is fifteen minutes ahead), to go off at 5:10AM, and will proceed to lay there for 3 additional minutes. The key is to hop out of bed quickly, before the minute is up. Once the 14th minute strikes, I feel screwed and will accept the fact that my day will probably be a little bent. I must say, a couple of good things (sometimes in the midst of certain annoyances) have worked out in my favor within the past two weeks or so. I really think this method to improving my karma is fumbling it's way towards... well... working? ... I'll keep all interested parties hip to this newly discovered insanity.