The Master of Kung-Funicular Arts Has Claimed WalMart As His Territory and Will Protect It At All Costs

I feel:: drugged and amused
What song is on a loop in my head right now:: Over The Rhine~What I'll Remember Most

I started filling out a questionnaire that I have to mail tomorrow so that a decision can be made on whether or not I'm just layman crazy or legally crazy. If they do find that I'm legally crazy, then the government will give me money every month as long as I desire it. It's not like it's much money at all. Not nearly enough to live on, which is weird, because if a person is filing for a disability saying that they can't work, you would think that they would get enough money to live on per month. I think it starts at something like $542 per month. Like I could live by myself on that amount of money a month, but I can't hold down a job. That's patently obvious since every job I've ever had I've either been fired from or quit because of depression, anxiety or uncontrolled rage.

Well, this is beginning to be an extremely boring post. I'm drugged with enough Klonopin to knock out a horse and yet I'm still awake. What does that say about my anxiety level?

Maybe I should tell you about the crazy man I saw at Wal Mart last week. He was sitting outside by the side door (you know, that's where all the employees take their smoke breaks). Except he wasn't sitting still. Every couple of seconds he would jump up and swing a good left or right hook into the air (there was absolutely no one in front of him or anywhere near him for that matter). And then sometimes he would combine his arm swinging with air kicks like he thought he was Jet Li. All the while he was mumbling to himself and cursing, making the most horrid faces. He was about 6'3" or so and looked like he might have weighed 140 lbs. soaking wet with heavy boots on. He was wearing those 80's style jeans (you remember those, the ones that go tight all the way to the ankle) with cowboy boots and a dingy, faded blue t-shirt. He topped it all off with an even dirtier baseball hat turned backwards which looked like it covered one hell of a mullet.

Honestly, I didn't know whether to laugh, be scared, or be concerned. I had a quick thought that he might have Terrets, so I just stood a ways away from him for several minutes just watching his actions (far enough away that he couldn't see or notice me). He never stopped, but he would sit down occasionally, mumble, curse and then with his fight with the invisible opponent again. I started walking towards the side door, keeping a surrepitious eye on him lest he rush me thinking I was his opponent. I thought about going in the side door right beside where he was sitting, but as I approached he seemed to get more agitated and his swings and kicks became more forceful, so I gave him a wide berth and made my way to the front door, where, thankfully, there were no more redneck kung-funicular artists fighting invisible opponents. I told Sally about this the next time I saw her and she told me with all seriousness and with some certainty, "I think you've won the award for the most strange people encountered in WalMart." Followed by the question, "Why do you see all these weird people in WalMart?" At the time, I couldn't think of an answer. You see, I have this reputation among my friends of seeing weird things or having encounters with extremely odd people in WalMart. I don't know why they gravitate to me. I suppose it's just that I'm crazy and that like recognizes like. Anyway, I got to thinking about it and I guess the reason I always see weird people in Wal Mart is the same reason Sally always sees weird people in Waffle House. They're both Meccas for the strangest people late at night and when else would you go to WalMart or Waffle House?

I had a conversation with my mom earlier that proved interesting, but I think my meds are finally kicking in and as it is now, I'm only going to get about 4 hours of sleep. It's going to be fun trying to get up in the morning with the Klonopin hangover. I'll post about that convo tomorrow.


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