The Birth of a New Psychosis
A co-worker, whom I had happened to bump into at the grocery store this weekend, commented to me today that I looked much better than I did on the weekend and that he was happy I was feeling better. To quote: “You looked like death.” Huh?
Holy fuck, I had no idea I looked so wretched and sickly on my days off to warrant such concern and compassion from the people and acquaintances around me! Considering that I was feeling fine over the weekend and was even in an unusually chipper mood, or so I thought, I’m a little taken a back at his rather daunting perception of me. Do other people think that I look like shit warmed over as well? I mean, I realize that I don't exactly get all gussied up to go to the Supermarket on Sunday afternoons or anything...but do I really look THAT bad?
To make matters even more disconcerting for me is that this co-worker is the kind of person who wears a trench coat in July and dies his fingernails black. Shit, even his Death Metal t-shirts look as if they could have been designed by Satan himself for all the gory, gruesome, demonic disfigurements emblazoned across the fronts. He considers this “business casual”, and I'm the one that looks SICK? Christ, if I hadn’t known him already from work, I may have thought he’d fit the stereotypical profile of a public sex offender.
WTF?
“Hey, thanks for the great compliment and for laying the foundation for yet another personal insecurity. Why don’t you just trundle off and go piss on somebody else’s day before I club you to death with my keyboard, you cock-knocker.”
Holy fuck, I had no idea I looked so wretched and sickly on my days off to warrant such concern and compassion from the people and acquaintances around me! Considering that I was feeling fine over the weekend and was even in an unusually chipper mood, or so I thought, I’m a little taken a back at his rather daunting perception of me. Do other people think that I look like shit warmed over as well? I mean, I realize that I don't exactly get all gussied up to go to the Supermarket on Sunday afternoons or anything...but do I really look THAT bad?
To make matters even more disconcerting for me is that this co-worker is the kind of person who wears a trench coat in July and dies his fingernails black. Shit, even his Death Metal t-shirts look as if they could have been designed by Satan himself for all the gory, gruesome, demonic disfigurements emblazoned across the fronts. He considers this “business casual”, and I'm the one that looks SICK? Christ, if I hadn’t known him already from work, I may have thought he’d fit the stereotypical profile of a public sex offender.
WTF?
“Hey, thanks for the great compliment and for laying the foundation for yet another personal insecurity. Why don’t you just trundle off and go piss on somebody else’s day before I club you to death with my keyboard, you cock-knocker.”
posted by crazytigerrabbitman at
10:33 PM
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