n'est pas

I'm having one of those days, or hours, or maybe it's just a moment where it feels as though everyone else's weight in life is heftier than mine. Everyone else's job is more challenging, everyone has more important things to do. It's my mid-afternoon mid-atrophy, it's so goddamned easy. An obsessive snail's pace. The snail is obsessive, the pace is that of the snail. He said, adverbily.
Man, I don't know. It's so flat out here, real second-dimension shit. Like the desert, like the people, like the metaphor. My lungs could use a bath. This always happens right before summer, I get ready to start boxing, boxing things I mean and cleaning out and letting the air in. The other day I was looking for my stash of antibiotics (just in case I happened upon any biotics), and something like a roach or spider or roach/spider hybrid looked up at me for half a second before dashing to the bottom of my junk-medication bag. Maybe this happened, I'm almost certain this happened but see the thing is i'm not entirely sure it did. My plan is to pretend that bag doesn't exist for at least one spider life-span, or until the antipsychotics kick in, whichever comes first.
Small steps, snail steps.

Complaint/justification/overjustification/personal example/mix that metaphor, baby.