The Brink

I have a guilt complex a mile long; and it twists around itself until it's smaller than a grain of sand, sitting in the shade of my soul, sipping on a margarita. My guilt is an alcoholic...

I know that I'm really on the verge of a serious breakdown when a couple of things start happening. First, I can't sleep. It's twenty to five and I stopped blinking two hours ago. No caffeine either. Caffeine is the first thing to go when I'm feeling like this--high strung.

Second, I cannot sit still to save my tired soul. And my soul is really tired. It wants to celebrate the end of November with a nice long rest. Sorry, soul, better luck next year...

Third, I'm hungry but I don't want to eat anything. This isn't a self-conscious about holiday weight gain bit, this is an I'm not in the mood for food bit. It's really annoying. I raided my cupboards and despite the moaning and groaning in my stomach couldn't convince myself to even heat up a bowl of soup.

Fourth, all my old addictions come back with a mean vengeance. In first year I used to have bruises on my palm from playing online games where my hand just rested on the desk for hours at a time. It's a good thing I was never a problem gambler. I'm too poor to lose all my money.

Finally, I just don't care. The redeeming feature of being this close to the edge pertains to the rest of the world: you can say anything to me and I will laugh as though you woke up this morning intent on bringing me joy. How sweet of you. Seriously, try it. I dare you.

And the cause? What could be at the source of my confounded behaviour and disposition? I blame American Literature. Read a little Robinson and you'll see. I'm going to be the on the drowning side. Unless I "seize the swift logic of a woman and Curse God and die." All too perfect a plan in my eyes right now.

I'm going to reread the cynics guide for the second time this week because I like to believe it might put me to sleep...there are some things in this world you just can't change. But some things you can't see until they leave--they're the things that you miss. And that's all it is.