I had just visited the podiatrist. I was in the office about eight minutes. Feet are fine. Gel packs. Merely a suggestion. It was 9:16 a.m. when I returned to the car. My appointment was 9:15 a.m. I’m always early. I turned on the ignition and had no desire for a cigar. Not even a donut. The streets were now relatively dry after the snow Sunday. Flo was surprised to see me back so soon. I didn’t even get a greeting.
Went downstairs to fill the humidors with water. Put away some sample cigars and prepared for the day. Of course, I had to rush over to the computer to see how many fans are reading my blog. I am humbled. A lot do. And I thank you.
I cleaned up some emails and began to sit there. Looking at the computer screen. Just looking. At nothing in particular. The same old shit. The same old σκατά. Flippant comments. Some angry. Some complementary. Some just plain unnecessary.
My eyes began to travel beyond the screen. Over the screen. To the wall. I was beginning to buzz out. It happens now and then. But I can tell when the feeling is going to envelop me deep into its devious, sticky net of nothingness.
My eyes glazed over. I just stared into nothing. A blank mental screen. No plan. Though I had appointments and would make them. But this was a hole in time that I wasn’t able to fill with productivity. With calls. With words. I was projecting nothing. Or was I?
Maybe I was. I wrote a silly post. My asinine contribution. It received some reaction. Why? Because it shows my momentary boredom. My insouciant mental state. Will Sampson? “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?” No. Zoned out in the office.
Why this sedentary time warp? I have so much and ask for so little. But I was now in the darkest vortex of blank thought. My black hole of infinite space. Nothing was there. I could see my peripheral vision was lost, blurred, and distant. I was staring out into the abyss. Daydreaming? No. That has movement. This was stillness. This was the opposite of something. This was nothing.
Not a single thought of cigars. Or was it an overabundance of cigars? Saturation. I hit a wall. No pain. Just a stop in motion. Incessant ringing in my ears. My phone rang. Leave it. I am paralyzed. This is happening to me. Is it permanent? Have I been stricken? No. I have been pulled into the dimension of darkest boredom. I am hemmed in on all sides of emptiness. It’s how Vincente Minnelli depicted Spencer’s Tracy’s walk to the altar. Rubbery legs, deep in the absorbing pile.
Snap out of it! Snap! Maybe I have – snapped! The phone rings again. My head briefly shakes back and forth. Essential tremors? I have come to. To what?