At Least They're Committed

I feel funky today, as if drugged or something but I’m not drugged. I can’t decide whether I feel good or bad, but at least I feel something, I guess.

I drove in because this afternoon/evening I need to take photos before a basketball game in another town that I won’t name because 1. I try not to reveal my locations and 2. I don’t like that town in the least. No matter, whatever is making me feel drugged was making me giddy as I was en route to work.

I was singing loudly along with Rob in Smooth and Mick in Gimme Shelter (though I did start crying briefly when it got the rape, murder bit . . . not sure what’s up wi’ dat!) and Jerry in Touch of Gray as I pondered whether Grateful Dead fans realized the song is somewhat of a dig at them, but either way it was an appropriate song for me to hear since I was feeling drugged and all.

I was cruisin’ and called some lady in a slow moving car an “old bat” (windows were rolled up) and wondered how long it had been since I — or anyone — had called someone an old bat and I didn’t even need to slow down when I passed a buck to the homeless guy on the 20th Street exit ramp. I chatted with the woman who was waiting behind me at the place you pay for parking and she didn’t say a word back to me and I didn’t care, really, but it made me wonder how anyone could stand there and not say anything when spoken to.

And as I walked from the lot it occurred to me that maybe I was “high” because I had decided to gather all my strength and let you know that just because I’m paranoid, it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you. Maybe it was relief because sometimes I think I should say something and sometimes I know better.

By the time I hit the elevator, I was questioning myself again and so now I’m as conflicted as ever and I feel drugged and, you know, it might be bad, but it’s definitely not good.