THE CAPSY APATHY IS CAPSY

I WANT TO TYPE THIS WHOLE THING IN ALL-CAPS, but don't worry. I won't. I WILL JUST TYPE SOME OF IT IN ALL-CAPS.



There isn't anything really to be capsy about, but there is so little to be capsy about that it's like we've come full circle right back around to capsiness again. It's like when you are feeling so apathetic that there is basically an apathy party in your brain, except that comparison totally doesn't work.

Eff it. I've got a serious case of the Capsy Apathy. THE CAPSY APATHY IS CAPSY.



I woke up with this sort of numb feeling that edged on depression, so I drank some coffee and nearly passed out on my keyboard with ennui. At that point, I thought I might be having an issue with basic sustenance, so I ate a banana, and then one of my cats ate some of the banana peel, and then he puked it up all over the foot of my rolly office chair, and I still didn't feel anything except grey while I sopped up cat vomit. So, it wasn't a sustenance issue. DAMN.



And the sky was grey and under my eyes looked grey and the film of cat hair all over my kitchen-table-cum-desk was grey.

I SAID CUM. AND THEN I YELLED ABOUT IT.



I had a cheque in my purse to deposit, and, despite my apathy-swiftly-turning-into-gloom, I still liked money, so I went to the bank where I had to use the machine because all the tellers were busy or on lunch, and then I went to a posh shoe store where I was roundly ignored, and then I tried on weird-fitting clothing samples, because it's always best to try on clothing sample rejects that make it look like you're smuggling wilted potatoes under your shirt when you're feeling gloomy, and then I tried to have lunch at a cafe that was closed, and then I tried to buy a cinnamon bun at a place that doesn't bake them on Thursdays, and then, in order to round off this rousing adventure, I went to Shoppers Drug Mart and bought fifty dollars worth of vitamins.

YOU DON'T GET TO FEEL GOOD. I'M DRAGGING YOU DOWN WITH ME.



It's weird to go through so much of a day feeling so invisible. Oh, except for at The Gap. A fantastic saleslady there actually saw me and helped me and somehow coaxed me into a pair of heavily discounted khakis.

Thank you, The Gap saleslady. YOU MADE ME FEEL HUMAN FOR ELEVEN MINUTES.



I seriously felt like I was in one of the old black-and-white Twilight Zone episodes as a character who slowly ceases to exist to the rest of humanity but is doomed to walk through her city invisibly, her sanity wasting under the complete and utter withdrawal of human love.

NOPE. NO MELODRAMA HERE, FOLKS. MOVE ALONG.



Did I mention it was windy? It was windy. It was so windy, in fact, that my purse was blown up and into the back of my head more than once. This was so I could both feel invisible AND look really cool in public. It was like the universe was smacking me upside the back of head and shouting YOU'RE SO EFFING AWESOME, SCHMUTZIE.



Anyway, I really like my new pants. The saleslady told me that almost no one else liked them, which was why they had so many on sale. I'm one fashionable human being, people, in my largely disliked khakis. You should go to The Gap and get a pair. WE COULD BE FASHIONABLE TOGETHER LIKE MOVIE STARS.



How was your day?

Thank God For Apathy

Some days you feel like that last, tiny spring in the middle of you, the last coil of you still left unfrayed, is going to give way. You can feel it twig to the right in your chest and away from your heart, and you are certain, you are absolutely confident, that this is it.

You imagine stripping off all your clothes and running barefoot into the middle of the street nearly frozen over with the last autumn rain and screaming something that might really piss off your neighbours.

THERE IS NO GOD, MOTHERFUCKERS! or YOUR CHILDREN WILL NEVER BE ANY BETTER THAN YOU ARE RIGHT NOW!

You don't strip yourself naked and run into the street, though. You sit inside and order takeout and hold on for texts from the Palinode and obsess over making this tree:



It's all you can do, really. You don't like the cold. And you'd like to keep your 38-year-old hindquarters out of public view. And there's a pizza with your name on it that won't order itself.

Sometimes a little touch of apathy can do your neighbourhood a world of good.