I am being controlled by an alien. I am being controlled by an alien and it's making me sick. I mean it, physically sick. I'm thinking doctor's-note-sick. I'm thinking crazy. (Does Gnarls Barkely rock, or what?)
I am so controlled, I'm not blogging, walking, or engaging in any activities I formerly enjoyed. That's the kind of thing they ask you in the depression tests.
One of the activities from which I previously derived enjoyment was making fun of the alien and others like it. On the weekends, I forgot about the alien. But it's all over now. (I love the Rolling Stones but couldn't stand to pass up the Valentinos.)
At first, I guess because I was previously so unfamiliar with the feeling of hating weekdays, I thought the quality of my weekends had improved and that was what was making Mondays so much more difficult. But now I realize that I had it backwards. The week days had so slowly and steadily become so much more difficult and painful, I was starting to think even those weekends which were boring and uneventful, were thrilling and wonderful. I hate Mondays.
I am so surprised the alien was able to do this but I shouldn't be. Although it took me a while, and at first I thought the alien was good, I figured out a while ago the alien is devious and mean-spirited. It's commited to complete control and it has triumphed (wow, that one is annoying, huh?).
The alien makes me so tired. Because of the alien, I have become obsessed with words like desultory and whether I am pronouncing it correctly. That's because according to the alien, I pretty much do everything wrong. That's okay though, it seems like so does everyone else.
Could the alien be myself? No, no the alien could not be myself because I am not a cow.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
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