St. Patrick. ...Shit.

Martin sheen in Apocalypse Now, is that the sound of choppers, or just my bathroom fan?

Ever have one of those moments? A pause in activity, and you think, how did I ever get to this point? I have them all the time. Today it was when I was bent over the bath tub, naked, lathered in the stink of Veet, frantically scrubbing the porcelain clean with a white facecloth. I stopped to stare at the facecloth which had turned to a festive shade of green, stained from the Comet I had just dusted the bathroom with, and was now happily inhaling from the bottom of the tub. Happy St. Patrick's day...

I guess I should have known. I awoke content enough this morning, but started to slip soon after. I remember lying on my side looking out the window at the city beneath me, knowing what I would be handed as the hours wore on. The scene from Apocalypse Now of Martin Sheen doing drunken Karate in his underwear came to mind. I thought of Sheen's character, Benjamin Willard, and the only dialogue in that fantastic montage, "Saigon. ...shit."

I showed up at the office late and left early for a marathon session of Sponge Bob Square Pants on the X-Box with F. I am a dedicated employee and worth every penny, trust me. I was well on my to insanity before I left, but I think it must have been the endless train ride home which afforded me too much time to think and finally did me in. Its amazing what the imagination can accomplish when given a little time to ferment. However, the process does rely on something to rot, and there is plenty of waste running through the course of my days, believe me.

My landlord called earlier in the evening to announce that he would be hosting an open house to show prospective renters my lovely accommodations. The condo, with the exception of my bedroom and attached bathroom, is pretty much empty. I want all evidence of my connection with this place hidden from view. So I spent the night taking all the pictures from the walls so they are empty and void of any personality. I don't want anything revealed to the strangers who will pass through this place and glance around with discomfort.

Once the walls were cleared I guess it was just a natural progression to move onto the body. Which brings us to the manic make-over. While I was waiting for the hair on my chest to fall off me like a matted carpet, I might as well clean the bathroom too. So there you have it, it all makes perfect sense now. If only I could put this ingenuity to better means. Carry on...