I hear my friend, Mike Simpson, talking cheerily with our hostess. He asks about her sons and the night starts to flash back to me. Did we see a deer in the front yard? Did I dream that? Why is my face so hurty? Then I peel it off the leather couch it's stuck to and ask the same thing about my head. I look at Mike and mentally send him pictures of coffee and bacon and biscuits with gravy. He must be getting the hint because he heads in to shower. I know I have no time. Hygiene is for the young and spry. If I don't get greasy solids into my stomach to wrestle down the incorrectly made Irish car bombs we did the night before, I am going to have a much bigger problem on my hands. I cannot be all barfy for the drive I had ahead of me. I have 6 hours before the next show. It's back in Las Vegas so that will give me about 20 minutes to get ready. I can't even get some hair of the dog in me to alleviate my internal suffering. I have to drive. I know I look like a hot turd on the hood of a Pontiac, so I reach into my backpack for my trusty face sheet mask: the basic bitch's human white out.
I am an obsessive person by nature. I think it's fueled by my anxiety. I'll find a podcast I enjoy then I'll listen to two years worth of episodes in a few weeks. You pair up anxiety disorder with poor impulse control? I tell you WHAT people, you are in for a ride more unstable than a roller coaster at a traveling carnival. I do consume a lot of things because of this. I liken it to sports. Some people can name hundred of athletes and their stats. Mine is much more fragmented. Like that scene in It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia when Charlie is mapping out his mail conspiracy theory in the mail room, all while not delivering any of the mail. Hopefully some good can come out of my obsessive consumption, even if it's just recommending a product to people that might bring them some joy.