blitzkrieg

Every now and then, out of the clear blue, I lose belief in my ability to maintain my composure.

Like today, I am in Whole Foods. Totally normal. It is my neighborhood store and I am easily there once a day. What’s the problem, right? I’ve got this one.

No. Because today, for absolutely no reason, I am suddenly seized by the very realistic image of my completely losing my shit in the store.

First I will tackle both of those displays to the ground and then, standing, I will hurl those jars of almond butter at the glass front windows…

Really. Out of nowhere. No warning. The visuals are just upon me.

The sheer chaos my solitary little being could cause captivates me with its unusual beauty, and my fingers start to itch.

Going into a slight trance as I walk forward, the story line continues alongside me.

Then I would upturn that yogini’s cart, and delight in her bottles of TAZO smashing all over the tiles…

Nama-fucking-ste!” I would scream.

My heart rate accelerates. My scalp begins to tingle. And it becomes clear that I need to exit the store.

I squint my eyes, try to make it look like I am a highly focused individual. Attempt to make my way to the storefront as quickly as possible.

But fuck if there isn’t some traffic jam in the aisle I have chosen.

The people in front of me have recognized each other as having the same feng shui consultant.

Oh shit, please no.

Just close your eyes, sweetie. Close your eyes and breathe deeply.

Would it be that big of a deal, really, if I were to outstretch just one arm, and systematically knock every box of gluten-free crackers off this shelf…

Now I am rationalizing. And I have no choice but to just start pushing my way out of the store, a misting of perspiration beginning at my temples and a frenzied, trapped-animal look in my eyes.

Nearly get hit by a minivan as I dart across the parking lot. Resist the temptation to key the Prius that is parked next to me. Lock myself in my car. Turn on the radio. Make sure the bass is amped up high enough that my vehicle throbs. Slam my head once against the steering wheel and keep it there. Think about Twinkies, Tang, and Ford Mustangs. Let the moment pass.

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