My brain broke today. Just went kaput, as my grandmother used to say.

It was about 3:47 pm and I was looking at a document trying to remember what I was supposed to do with it. I looked at the other stacks of waiting documents…and they looked like Mid-town Manhattan in a post-apocalyptic sci-fi film. I expected a miniature Bruce Willis or Will Smith to dart between them on their way to save the world…save me.  I acutely felt that I should get out of my chair and sit on the floor under my desk…it might be safer down there. Maybe nobody would be able to see me down by the power strip and the box for documents determined best shredded before their paper is recycled. But even the logistics of getting down there seemed like a task too difficult to make into a reality.

Towers of TribulationIt became hard to breath.

The lights were too bright.

I was sure the girls in the next department were being even more obnoxiously loud than they are every Friday at that time of day. I sometimes wonder if they’ve started happy hour while still at the office. Damn! Give me some of what you’re having!

The Cubicle of Doom towered with too much…much too, too much & too many of too much. The stacks were the teeth of a predatory monster of the deep….something that we think only exist in the maps of the seas during the Middle Ages. And the kicker…there is so much more that will be added to it on Monday. All the Demon Monsters’ cousins and aunts and uncles will show up in true Latino fashion.

And I will cry for sure.

I’m sure I heard a long, dull rumbling yet sharply echoing *crrrraaaack!* that was the phenomenal fissure coming into existence in my brain…a chasm to rival the San Andreas Fault.

Compounded by the seemingly preternaturally bright lighting on the Home Again Express ride home. I felt like I had stepped into in a bad Hong Kong action flick where everything was hyper-colour and sharply edged…and something was about to go down. Something that wasn’t going to be pretty but that the theater audience would jump in fright and cheer at the end of the scene. I didn’t feel like I’d be around by the end of the scene.

Xanax.

A glass of Red Bicyclette Pinot Noir.

…and some cheap Chow Mien.

We may discover this just a terribly bad dream when we wake in the morning. Yeah, that’s it. Gotta be. The Xanax tells me so.

© 2011 D. Kessler

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