Paranoia for Breakfast

Always have I pondered the meaning of breakfast. See, I "grew up" in church (note: the small "c", we reserve the large "C" for Catholics :P) and that means an entire slew of things. Amongst a nigh infinite innuendo count, I am speaking of fasting. Supposedly, fasting clears one's mind and body allowing a better chance at meditation /prayer and what-have-you. It is also supposedly good for you...I guess by means of reducing the amount of waste, I dunno, I have yet to wiki the topic.

From my experience, fasting makes one tired. Without food, I get sleepy – simple enough. When I am sleepy, I do not think well. Perhaps, somewhere I have missed the point? Dunno.

What I do know, however, is that paranoia, like fasting, has the same effect. When one's mind is stressed out to the point that mind is unawares, for me, the appetite diminishes. Also, I get sleepy. Unlike fasting, paranoia keeps the mind afloat, always reaching for the possibilities.

I find myself paranoid, frantic, and melancholy all at the same time. I feel something is amiss – guess what? I was right!

It's the worst feeling, the realisation and doom one experiences when paranoia is confirmed. Think about a B-rate slasher film, one of the "good" ones, that moment of realisation which drapes off the victim's, or murderer's, face when the BIG plan is unfurled. Do you know what they are thinking? "Fuck." Except, now, it is too late to proverbially "fuck," instead they have to face the music or run away for a terrible sequel. Everyone keeps attending those sequels. It is a big display of human incompatibility with letting go.

Thus, I am left with soggy cereal, too little time to make it to work on time, a pseudo-girlfriend in the back sleeping, and a very full mind of paranoia for breakfast to start the day. Whoopee! and woe-ass-me. :}

-oot