Signs of Impending Depression

I find myself in the toilet, crouching to wash my hair with the same hosing device used to disintegrate fecal residue on hairy assholes. I spray my hair, careful not to let the nozzle interact with my head as I am sure that a mere millisecond of contact is enough for unworldly organisms to set residence on my scalp and claim my entire head for whatever planet they come from (Uranus is one that comes to mind). I bow to the toilet seat and memorize the stains on the white ceramic and I know that today, the brownish, nutty protrusion on the bottom left side of the bowl is a temporary stain and it is my nature to compulsively spray on it until it comes off, then I can enjoy my Herbal Essences shampoo and wonder if it'll smell as good if used in an upright position.

My morning shower takes about 20 minutes. It takes 30 minutes on days when I find it amusing to sit on the bowl and ponder on whether I should take a shower or not. Interestingly, taking a shower always wins. Dressing up takes around 15 minutes. It takes 30 minutes on days when I find it amusing to sit on my bed and ponder on whether I should wear my socks already or wait for my feet to dry. Interestingly, waiting for my feet to dry always wins. Since I have learned to ignore both the ear-bleeding noise of the construction site next door and the useless murmur of the alarm clock, and I've been having amusing times on the toilet bowl and on my bed, plus the fact that the tie takes me about 5 minutes, I find myself at the office at 8:45 AM instead of the usual 8:00.

I stare at the computer screen, and for some reason, no matter how hard I flex my psychic abilities, it wouldn't work on its own. So I turn it on manually and try communicating with it again using my omnipotent brain. Nothing. So I proceed with the usual password entry and listen to the following standard Windows greeting that somehow echoes in my mind as "Hahaaaaaaaaay". In my head I hear a commotion--voices in panic, wanting to get out and be set free. I gather enough strength to tell each nagging voice to behave and cooperate with me for the rest of the day, promising them that if they do, they will get treats from the grocers nearby.

The time between 8:45AM to 1PM is a blur since I switch to auto-pilot mode and do my daily routine. After which, I go back to my bedroom and have a light snack while intentionally letting crumbs fall off from whatever processed carcinogen-laden food I have to the floor so that the cute light-gray mouse, that has specifically chosen my room to recreate Disneyland, will get cancer. The mouse shows up, I scare it away and I take a nap.

When I wake up, I freshen up quickly and go to lunch. The desert heat has effectively eliminated my restaurant choices and I settle for what's available beside our building. I order my food and sit at the same table. I try communicating with my meal, instructing it not to participate in any reverse osmosis organized by the revolting Gastric Union that might ensue in the next few minutes. I survive the coup attempt at lunch and proceed to the grocers to fulfill my promises to the voices in my head.

One of the voices picks a liter of juice, another picks a sweet treat, another voice picks a wafer. Curiously, the voice with the wafer also buys mobile phone load. I find out later that the load is put to waste as text messages, that were sent out, rarely got replies.

I spend the rest of the night in front of the computer alternating between work and personal stuff. For each email for my boss, I refresh my blog in the hopes that a new message or comment will surface. I count the time difference and reason that most people I know would be sleeping at the time but five minutes later I refresh again, positive that at least one might be awake. No one.

I go up to my room at midnight, have a light snack again and read a chapter or two from a book which I try to stretch the reading until the end of the month when I can afford to buy another one. Then, I switch off the light and put on Mandalay, the same CD I listen to every night to lull me to sleep because it is soothing as it is depressing. Just when "Missing You" reaches its chorus, I feel like crying. Then I hear a faint rustling. I focus my attention to this rustling sound and confirm that it's the mouse.

I fall asleep while thinking of strategies on how to gid rid of the mouse. Tomorrow, I will trap that mouse and torture it the same way it has tortured me. Tomorrow, I will grab it by its tail and laugh at it and smash it until I see its cute eyes comically dangling on its tiny nerves. Then, tomorrow, I will flush its remains down the toilet bowl, and should there be bits sticking on the ceramic, I will compulsively spray on it until it comes off clean because it is my nature.