there was something wonderfully wrong about the way things were going, everything was not as it seemed, things appeared cracked and closer then they actually were, like the mirrors on a beat up getaway car. there was a slow unravel of my surroundings and it hung loosely, casting a seductive veil like a promiscuous move of a slightly older out of shape women. this feeling was omnipresent. i'd be squeezing a tough avocado at the market and know it was there lingering, and when i spun a teaspoon in my black coffee-- as if i was adding that feeling to the liquid to consume and harbor inside of me. there was a beautiful out of sort-ness that was matter of fact in my routine and as much as i tried to ignore it, i felt as if it was oozing from my pores, a condensation, reveling my unexpected hot and coolness toward the sinking ship of my character. there was something perpetually blooming inside of me and as i involuntarily tried to slink out from under it i hadn't realized all along, all along that time of weirdness, i was there reigning right over it, on top of myself, hands full of my own shirt collar yelling into my own face like a crazed football couch about to win the Superbowl.