I felt completely...overwhelmed by my entertainment options last night. I had so many things to do after I got home from the office. First, I planned on playing with my vintage Korg Poly-61 synthesizer that I just bought off of ebay, but then I changed my mind and wanted to play my guitar since I just recently bought a new BOSS Digital Delay DD-5 effects processor. I'm in the market for a new combo amp, but my old peavy will do for now. I couldn't decide between keyboard or guitar, so I ended up watching something atrocious on Fox while figuring out what to do. I had options. I could have played my gameboy, my gamecube, or my playstation 2 (I have unopened, unplayed games for gameboy and gamecube). I could've used my new video editing software to edit that video of the beach that I shot two months ago on my DV camcorder (it's too bulky...I want to buy a new one...maybe one of those tiny new Sony Micro-MV cameras). I could've played with my kitten. I could've cooked a nice meal with all my new cookware that I bought on sale from amazon. I could've done some early Christmas shopping (mostly for me, maybe something for my girlfriend). I could've read some of my new interior design and music magazines, while listening to the new CDs I bought at Borders the other day. I could've watched some of those DVDs that I recently bought but still haven't watchd. I had so much to do. I had too much to do. I felt a little sick (the same kind of sickness I feel after browsing the web for too long at work...a weird, distant, slight nausea from staring and clicking and staring for so long), but above all, I felt bored. And lazy. In the end, I wasted another night looking at cars and pornography online.

Everything's good. It's so good, that I don't really feel like I'm at ease. Normally I'm worried about things. Constantly thinking, plotting, fantasizing. When I'm stuck in traffic on the way to/from the office, I try to think about my social manipulation techniques...how to better get what I want out of people. I don' t think that it necessarily makes me a bad person...hell, isn't that what being an American is about? Working hard (or benefitting from someone else's hard work) and getting ahead? It's all a big game. No, it's all a big, cruel joke. When I watch television and see Governor Arnold Schwarzeneggar talking about how "the democrats are addicted to spending...they need to go to an addiction place," my heart swells up with something and I just want to get high and stuff my face with nachos and watch Total Recall and clap my hands in delight during the scene where arnold uses the civilian on the escalator as a human shield. So really, I'm completely fine with the world I live in. Because I have a lot of awesome stuff. And soon I'll have more. But to do that I need to turn things around and make up for recent mental vacations. I'm going to work really hard in the office to make up for my weirdo antics. I got into some trouble a few weeks ago where I had an assignment to find appropriate stock imagery for this client presentation we had coming up. I completey spaced out and wasted four hours by collecting nothing but photos of orangutans/chimps/baboons/etc and really old, wrinkly chinese women. I would have been in a lot of trouble (I've heard that the company is looking to let a few people go) but somehow I talked my way out of it. I told my manager that my meds got all screwed up and it has resulted in difficulty in concentration and a loss of general understanding. He gave me a personal day. I spent it at home, on the computer all day, subscribing to more internet amateur pornography websites: "bookworm bitches," "black bros, white hoes," and "bangboat." It really cleared my head. The booger joke at work was the only subsequent boobery since then, and I don't think anyone caught on that I was doing it on purpose. So the work situation is improving. I'm definately trying a lot harder. My kitty, the Judge, aka Johnny Panzer, aka Shakie Wilcox, aka Mussolini, is doing very well. He's so full of spunk. Holding him really makes me not hate everything. And I've started having intercourse again.

It seems as if I've snapped back into reality. It's really good that I did, because people (at work and everywhere else) were starting to notice. I think what jolted me out of the depressive/detached daze I've been in was last night's episode at the local shopping mall. It was truly a sight to behold. It went like this:

I was in the market for a new pair of Nike running shoes, a new baseball hat, and a new Polo shirt. As I'm walking through the mall, and about to pass Kay Bee toys, I spot this wretched little thing approaching me. It's this fat little kid...just a complete example of everything that could be wrong with America's youth. He's walking next to his mother, who keeps trying to touch him or fix his hair or talk to him, and he keeps cursing her and slapping her hand away. And yet this doesn't anger her. He's pretty fat...probably about nine years old...wearing expensive shoes...ninety dollar Nikes (I was planning on getting a similar pair, but decided not to), and, ironically, a pricey-looking Adidas warmup jacket (doesn't look like he's the athletic type). He's got headphones on, and they're connected to an iPod clipped to his sagging Levi's. The headphones are blasting some kind of terrible nu-metal music, I imagine. And he's playing a gameboy (while walking; people are forced to walk around him because he isn't paying attention to where he's going) and chewing bubble gum and blowing bubbles. The way he was chewing gum, loudly and opening his mouth widely, was enough to make sick. I was still in my depressed daze, mind you, but this moved me somehow. I think it brought back memories of this birthday party I attended when I was eleven years old, where someone ate all of the candy out of my goody bag. Typically, I blamed the fat kid at the party, berating him and accusing him of eating all of my gummy worms and mini kit-kat bars. Anyway, I was moved (angered and amused at the same time) by the image of this fat little goblin slowly walking towards me, oblivious to his surroundings, surely on his way to the toy store so his mommy could buy him some more video games. I quickly ducked into the toy store, looked around for a suitable prop, and grabbed a viking helmet and toy battle axe from a display near the front of the store. Then I hid behind a tall stack of Legos and peeped around the corner, until I saw him approaching the store's entrance. I lept out from behind the stack, knocking them over, the battle axe raised above my head and the helmet near slipping off my head. "Your's will be a glorious death, you fat little slug!" I shouted at him. The look on his face was priceless, right before he lost his balance. He fell backward, his iPod and gameboy both slamming on the ground. I laughed maniacally, the viking helmet having slipped further forward and obscuring my vision. I could hear him crying and swearing, his mother screaming at me, and people whispering. At least I think I heard all that. My laughter drowned it all out. And it was at that point that I completely snapped back into reality. I placed the helmet and axe back into the display bin, and quickly left the store, with the sound of weeping fat and a mother's consolation (promising to buy him an extra video game) behind me. I think I even heard the kid tell his mom to "fuck off." Then I heard someone use the word "cops" and "security," so I picked up the pace and ducked into a Waldenbooks, where I spent the next hour looking at new age astrology books in the back of the store. There were no consequences, except that I now feel completely awake.