On Joining a Cult
Neurotic Moment 1
You know when you’re concentrating realllllly hard on doing something correctly and the act of being so very serious about what you’re doing and so very committed to doing it right zeros you in to the point where the slightest distraction can scare you out of your skin?
I was going to get a cup of tea before I settled down to write something earlier, and the mug was NEARLY full of hot, tea-ed, creamed and sugared yumminess, but I thought I’d put just a touch of cold water in to get it to a drinkable temperature a smidge faster. So I place it under the cold water tap of the water cooler, and get it as close as possible to the spigot so the water doesn’t have far to fall. You know, to minimize splashing. And I push ever-so-slightly on the water trigger, and a little bit trickles out and it’s just the perfect amount and then:
GWWWWW OW BOBBLE!
The noise of a giant air bubble in the water bottle frightens me so from my intense concentration that I slam the mug against the back splash of the cooler and spill it everywhere.
Nice. Just really superbly done.
Neurotic Moment 2
This evening we went to watch some friends play in a band. I happen to carry ear plugs in my purse at all times (perhaps that in and of itself is neurotic moment #2 and I should now move on to #3). This is because:
- I was born 87 years old. We know this. It has already been discussed.
- I am already deaf. I do not feel a need for new depths of deafness.
So, I have these in my purse because I never remember to bring them to a concert, and impromptu outings to concerts are a fact of life.
So the band’s about to start, and I pull out of my purse a tightly packed baggie with a bit of white stuff in a corner. It’s folded neatly over itself a number of times, and bound with a rubber band. Cute little crack baggie.
Except that white stuff? It’s my earplugs.
So, I am aware of this and sometimes I wonder whether someone will try to boot me out of the club for suspicious activity because they look over at the wrong time – when I’m carefully unwrapping my baggie. But that’s fine. I don’t ACTUALLY carry crack on me, so this wouldn’t be a problem.
Except tonight we’re at the boy’s place of employment, and I’m thinking…what if one of his coworkers looks over at the wrong time? Not that they’d necessarily care if I had a bag of weed, but to flaunt it so indiscreetly – it’s rude and puts their establishment in danger. But what if they felt obligated to let me get away with it because I’m dating a coworker? And then they’d just stew and hold a grudge against him for no reason?
Yes, the answer to your question is that I do, in fact, think this needlessly hard about nearly everything. The answer to your second question is yes, it is, in fact, exhausting.
And so here I am, nervously pulling my package out of my pocket, eyes darting back and forth to check for possible surveillance, and my earplugs have BECOME a narcotic for the moment as I try to jam my hand in the bag before anyone notices…
Conclusion
And that is why I am considering joining a cult. Or at the very least a zealot-ous sect of some major religion.


