(no subject)
*Apple Antics
Tonight I lost my shit in the super-market. I was on my way home after dropping off Leigh at the Green House, driving slowly down South Van Ness after a long but inspiring day in the sun. I was feeling woozy and physically tense, a possible side-effect of the epinephrine shot I needed following the accidental ingestion of some sort of nut that I'm allergic to. The time must soon come when I learn not to indiscriminately shove food in my mouth like a monster-person when I'm very hungry. I think, in general, it would be wise to take a closer and more critical look at things. So down South Van Ness I drove, contemplating "State and Revolution" and feeling a pervading sense of melancholy. I decided that all I would need to temporarily smooth things over in my mind was a Fuji apple from the Cala Foods and a bottle of squirt, my new soft drink of choice. I will admit right away that I'm particularly picky about my fruit and vegetables. The selection of apples was disappointing to say the least. Every one was in my assessment, too bruised or discolored for enjoyment. I was upset. I was annoyed. Maybe, I thought, I might find brief pleasure and solace in the cool crispness and flavor of the red/yellow Fuji apple. That’s all I wanted or needed in the world at that moment. But no, I was denied even that small comfort; a pittance on the grand scale of human satiation and satisfaction. This is about the time I begin to loose my ever-loving mind (weird saying, especially when typed, or even thought about). In the middle of the produce section, amongst a variety of fruits and vegetables, I start to steadily cry. It is important to note that I was consumed by this overwhelming feeling of being done-wrong, of being cheated out of something that I want and deserve, which of course went far beyond the stupid apple at that point, but manifested itself in the Fuji brand nevertheless. In a fit of irrational rage and contempt, I decided it best to hurl the basket of about a dozen apples across the aisle and onto the floor. They went sprawling and bouncing in every direction, catching the attention of the security guard named Philbert, this according to his name tag. I just stood there for a long time in horror at myself before I became aware of his physical presence. He seemed to want an explanation for my violent, crazy outburst. I could offer him nothing as I had no clear thoughts to verbalize. Instead I dropped to my knees and scurried about in an effort to collect all the apples while making high-pitched noises of apology. I felt like a furry rat or gopher creature. I think the one lucid thing I managed to say was that I intended on paying for all the apples, which were now far more bruised and battered then before. Philbert said nothing further, but seemed sympathetic to the sad state of my withering sanity. I could see in his face that he’d probably witnessed far worse then my pathetic display. And pathetic it certainly was. By the time I had finished collecting the apples, I had attracted the interest of the other shoppers who were all lookey-looing in my direction. I don’t blame them, not one bit. I probably would have stared at the crazy girl who lost her mind in the Cala Foods too. I bet I would have. So now I have a bag of 12 pitiful apples to go along with my pitiful state of mind. I have yet to throw them away and I’m thinking I will try to use them for something in attempt to render resourcefulness and productivity to my market freak-out. Maybe I’ll find some way to mash them into apple juice that I’ll make Joel drink with me. But that would be silly too.
Tonight I lost my shit in the super-market. I was on my way home after dropping off Leigh at the Green House, driving slowly down South Van Ness after a long but inspiring day in the sun. I was feeling woozy and physically tense, a possible side-effect of the epinephrine shot I needed following the accidental ingestion of some sort of nut that I'm allergic to. The time must soon come when I learn not to indiscriminately shove food in my mouth like a monster-person when I'm very hungry. I think, in general, it would be wise to take a closer and more critical look at things. So down South Van Ness I drove, contemplating "State and Revolution" and feeling a pervading sense of melancholy. I decided that all I would need to temporarily smooth things over in my mind was a Fuji apple from the Cala Foods and a bottle of squirt, my new soft drink of choice. I will admit right away that I'm particularly picky about my fruit and vegetables. The selection of apples was disappointing to say the least. Every one was in my assessment, too bruised or discolored for enjoyment. I was upset. I was annoyed. Maybe, I thought, I might find brief pleasure and solace in the cool crispness and flavor of the red/yellow Fuji apple. That’s all I wanted or needed in the world at that moment. But no, I was denied even that small comfort; a pittance on the grand scale of human satiation and satisfaction. This is about the time I begin to loose my ever-loving mind (weird saying, especially when typed, or even thought about). In the middle of the produce section, amongst a variety of fruits and vegetables, I start to steadily cry. It is important to note that I was consumed by this overwhelming feeling of being done-wrong, of being cheated out of something that I want and deserve, which of course went far beyond the stupid apple at that point, but manifested itself in the Fuji brand nevertheless. In a fit of irrational rage and contempt, I decided it best to hurl the basket of about a dozen apples across the aisle and onto the floor. They went sprawling and bouncing in every direction, catching the attention of the security guard named Philbert, this according to his name tag. I just stood there for a long time in horror at myself before I became aware of his physical presence. He seemed to want an explanation for my violent, crazy outburst. I could offer him nothing as I had no clear thoughts to verbalize. Instead I dropped to my knees and scurried about in an effort to collect all the apples while making high-pitched noises of apology. I felt like a furry rat or gopher creature. I think the one lucid thing I managed to say was that I intended on paying for all the apples, which were now far more bruised and battered then before. Philbert said nothing further, but seemed sympathetic to the sad state of my withering sanity. I could see in his face that he’d probably witnessed far worse then my pathetic display. And pathetic it certainly was. By the time I had finished collecting the apples, I had attracted the interest of the other shoppers who were all lookey-looing in my direction. I don’t blame them, not one bit. I probably would have stared at the crazy girl who lost her mind in the Cala Foods too. I bet I would have. So now I have a bag of 12 pitiful apples to go along with my pitiful state of mind. I have yet to throw them away and I’m thinking I will try to use them for something in attempt to render resourcefulness and productivity to my market freak-out. Maybe I’ll find some way to mash them into apple juice that I’ll make Joel drink with me. But that would be silly too.