Friday, November 17, 2017

Funeral face, again.

Today was another slow motion day.

Once every month or two, I wake up disconnected - slightly removed - two shakes shy of real life - plumbing the depths of the dark behind the daylight - ensconced within a roll of soaking wet cotton batting threaded with fibers of lead - according to no rhyme or reason.

Like the mortal agonies, waking up half dead and stuck inside the slow-flowing sap of apathy and despair is a seemingly random phenomenon. I'm clueless as to the unholy clockwork which motivates these inflictions.

On days like today, managing a facial expression feels like lifting weights. Speaking above a whisper feels like suffocating. Every action is accompanied by a desperate prayer located just below my awareness:

Guide me, protect me, as I'm forced through these motions.

Bad brain chemistry, triggered by unknown ingredients... that's the best explanation I can come up with for these little dips into hell that come every so often.

My boss got onto me today for having 'funeral face', as he puts it. Funeral face... that's a good name for it.
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Why you have funeral face? You scare away customer! What wrong with you today?

Geez, I dunno, Chiy. Nothing is wrong, I just wake up like this sometimes.

Customer ask me what wrong with you, I try to protect you, I tell them, he have back pain, but customer leave and don't come back! It hurt sales!

I'm sorry, Chiy. I can't just force myself to pretend that I'm happy.

What wrong with you? Something bothering you? What happen?

Nothing's wrong, Chiy. I just wake up like this sometimes, there's no reason for it! I'm having a bad day. People have bad days. Customers have bad days, I have bad days.

You need help me out, I'm losing sales...

It's not my fault.
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And I move through the entire day in slow motion, like a puppet submerged in syrup, scaring away customers and freaking out my boss because my brain chemistry is experimenting with recipes from a forgotten appendix of the Necronomicon.

Thank God these events only occur a few times a year.

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