Things

Good news is: I’m not contracting a weird disease in my wrist.

…This watch I bought from Hong Kong online has been freaking me out for days…on account of the face constantly changing color when it touches me.  I didn’t realize it until after I’d already been wearing it across two day’s span…chalking it up to “difference of light.” Then I took it off to show Ma at one point, and it turned from brown to green within seconds. My brain instantly jumped to the fact there is prob’ly something spurious in the metal…filling me with lead-based cancerous ions of doom.

…Like those coffee cups I drank out of for a whole year before I read the base stamp that said as much.

Nowhere on the literature of what I purchased or where I purchased it, was there an explanation to my new state for concern. Until I found it today, by total generic Googling.  Apparently it’s a selling point feature of said watch, for every place BUT the one that I purchased it from.

…Whether I’m feeling “coffee,” “green,” “black” or “blue” tinted, I am told none of them will fill me with any toxic diseases.  That they know of.  So, that’s comforting.  Although it still doesn’t explain why none of these places online provide you with a “key” to the color codes. I have no fucking idea what in the hell any of them are supposed to mean.

Is it my aura?

Is it my chi?

Is it generic me-temperature?

Is “coffee” better than “green?”

Should I esteem to a calming “blue” over the who-knows-what-to-think-of-it “black?”

I dunno.

They won’t tell me.

…So now I have that to worry about.

…Meanwhile: Am on a record-breaking semi-insomniac cycle. That means I can get to sleep alright, (around one-or-so a.m.), but pop awake for any variety of “thinking” reasons at three or four, without being able to kick it and go back to sleep again. This is just weird. Who wakes up from “thinking?”

…It isn’t a dream. It isn’t a sound. I’ve had the fan running WITH the heater at the same time, and singularly by turn…so it isn’t climate.

I don’t understand.

…Really, it’s akin to going from total sleep to that semi-haze of alertness when rolling over, and my brain suddenly yells something like, “RENT!” And then I snap totally awake and commence to worry the rest of the morning about when the fucking landlord will finally deposit that damn check…cuz I have my auto car and insurance payments hitting any day now, and even though I did the math and it should all be fine to go through, who the fuck knows what random “oh, I forgot about that” thing might hit my account in the mean time and screw everything up?

…And then the rent might bounce, and I’d be homeless on the street…and I have a lot of shit that NO WAY would all fit into a shopping cart as a make-shift mobile home unit…cuz if the RENT doesn’t clear, it’ll reject my car payments too…and THEN where will I be?!

…Oh sure, you can laugh or roll your eyes at me all you want, but these are real anxieties at three a.m. on almost no sleep. Your brain isn’t thinking super clearly…it just fixates, and chews the SHIT out of things…like an old piece of bubble gum, long since flavorless, but the chewing action keeps your oral fixation and teeth clenching at bay…so you just keep chewing on it until you’re exhausted for totally OTHER reasons.

…A case of the solution making another problem.

Basically, this is the entire life-cycle of a person with clinical anxiety.

…So: not a lot of sleep. And busy work days slamming me against the wall without mercy. And random anxiousness popping up night and day, for what equates to “technically sound reasons,” although not good enough ones at all for normal people to obsess about for hours and days on end.

…It’s the only time I crave to be one of them.

We are not without some “goodnesses,” however. Until today, there was sun for after-work walks. Some buddy hang times. Lovely read rehearsal work-outs with old friends for a performance this Friday. Birthday toys to be played with…

…I have “stuff.” I’ll be fine. I’ll eventually figure out this new rut I’ve been thrown into and even things out. Either way, it beats the hell outta the “depression” tsunami that “was”…so…I’ll take it.

…I’ll chew on it…

…Til the fucker turns to rubber.

…Then, one day, I’ll figure out how to spit the bastard out, and have a reprise of calm before another piece gets popped in my mouth.

…So it goes.

~D