5 goes to 7 : Avarice and Avoidance

In which our heroine becomes even less charming than usual and wastes a ridiculous amount of time on situations that are twelves steps beyond trivial.

First things first-can someone tell me when middle age starts? I think it happens sometime in the mid/late-40s and that I'm at least a decade and a half from middle age. I barely got through my quarter-life crisis do I have to start planning for the mid-life one? Will I get a convertible? Can I have something to reflect on other than an inordinate amount of time spent watching soaps? Am I the only person reminded of that scene in Postcards from the Edge when Shirley Maclaine refers to herself as middle aged and Meryl Streeps says, "How many 120 year old women do you know?"
At least the last thing is probably just me.
No, it's all just me.

Today I decided to go to Tower Records because I very much needed Entertainment Weekly for the tastiness. It's been awhile since I needed to buy EW. A magazine that I see is more useful for delicious pictures than worthwhile insight. The X-Files has been off the air for a long time. (Sad) That left me with absolutely no one that was needed me to construct a shrine in the honor of her/him. (The last shrine was un-officially to the X-Files and completely and totally for Gillian Anderson--she was so damn...rowr. By which I mean--a talented actress.)
That was me digressing. It's a thing I do.
Anyhoo. I needed EW so I called two grocery stores after having visited 2 Krogers and an Eckerd. Cranky. But an excuse to go to Tower is a good thing. Stupid Tower had lots of stuff that I wanted but not what I was out for-and I was a woman on a mission.
Have you ever been to Tower on West End? The parking lot is from hell. In the process of pulling out this scene occurred:
I released my foot off the brake, looked over my left shoulder-saw a truck waiting to take my spot. I stopped because that makes me nervous looked to the right-a woman that had shopped at the Mom Jeans shop at the mall and her equally stylish daughter were stopped right next to the back of my truck. I looked at them. They looked at me. I waved them to go on and keep walking. They refrained from following that logical action. They.Just.Stood.There.
"Do you plan to move?" I asked. "Someone's waiting for this space."
"You almost hit us," said the mother.
So you decide to continue standing in the direct line of fire? I've always wanted to nominate someone for the Darwin Awards. And, far be it from me, but wouldn't I have had to be in motion to hit you? And further, what kind of idiot stands behind an obviously soon to be moving pick-up truck?
"Sorry. Now, you're holding people up. You move and I can pull out."
Mom Jeans cast a look my direction that I'm fairly sure no one would translate as "Gosh, that nice lady in the Mazda opened my eyes to the fact that I shouldn't play in traffic."
That little event pissed me off far more than it should've.
Since Tower had been a failure I went to Borders, so many things I wanted. So many preciouses. But I was a good little lunatic and only bought the magazine. I felt like a bigger freak than I did standing outside of the Colbert Report studios waiting for Stephen Colbert. These feelings are probably because I'm a little crazed at the moment.
Do you know the most common cause of a recurring panic episodes over the course of a short period of time? Fear of having a panic attack. Fear of the past repeating is actually worse than the trauma of whatever caused the first event. That is my current state of mind. I'm so pre-occupied with worry that what happened Monday night will happen tonight-tomorrow when I'm at work-when I'm driving-anytime and with no warning
that I'm basically setting myself up for another attack.
Isn't the human mind a fascinating and terrifying place to spend a weekend? I'm selling time-shares if anyone wants to spend Labor Day with me. There is, surprising as it may be, still a free space. We're going to watch Vertigo, drink heavily, and if I'm really good, order Chinese take-away. If I've been bad, the only food for the weekend will be baked beans on toast and I do mean only-no dreamsicles or chocolate, no cereal or corn chips--just baked beans on toast. Without cheese or butter. Otherwise, how will I learn?

Following all the fun of buying EW and nearly killing a stupid person and her stupid in training daughter at Tower I came home and was bored. So I took bad fiend to the Dog Park. I wanted a cigarette. All was going well until bigger dog decided to show Coupland who was boss and Coupland decided to point out that he may be small but he is (so not) mighty. This was fine, until I had visions of Baxter attacking Henry (something I never actually saw, because I was at an X-Files convention at the time-hmmm) dancing in my head. Dog fights scare the shit out of me. I dragged the dog home. We watched 2 episodes of House and I ate an entire pizza.
I've found the secret to that paint thinner rum from last (was it Saturday? Thursday? who cares) limeade and diet sprite. Add the right amount of either and it ceases to taste like hell-but I still get a considerable amount of alcohol.
If only I had some candy. I really love candy. For that reason alone it shouldn't be surprising that ther's never any in the cupboard.