The High-Anxiety Alphabet.
BY DAVID GIANATASIO
- - - -
A is for Attica. I could wind up there, abused by guards and prisoners, convicted of a crime I didn't commit.
B is for bed bugs. They're just bits of lint, probably from the woolen socks I've worn since the cold nights began. Still, I could swear I saw one move.
C is for crazy. Don't call me that. Ever. No, wait ... C is for cancer.
D is for drugstore. What if they gave me the wrong medicine? I could go blind or deaf. Or lose my sex drive, or, at the very least, my taste for chocolate. I've read that it happens all the time.
E is for elfin. Your smile, so sweet. My God! Is that a herpes sore on your lip? Sorry, sorry. That was a terrible thing to say. But come on—"birthmark" my ass!
F is for Freudian. On a recent job interview I said I had an abiding interest in "pubic relations." The Human Resources woman chuckled. It probably would've been all right, if I hadn't tried to explain it away as "one of those embarrassing slits."
G is for gangrene. I keep getting these little "holes" in the tips of my fingers that my doctor can't explain.
H is for herring. It turned! It turned! Darkness closing in ... this is the end! Wait ... I hate herring. Always upsets my stomach. Don't know why I keep eating the stuff.
I is for idiosyncrasy. Also, individualism. Both grossly overrated.
J is for jalapeño. They're supposed to burn ... but not like this! Maybe they've turned ...
K is for Kryptonite. Even Superman has his hang-ups.
L is for Lubriderm. I read somewhere that it gives you cancer. Which reminds me: C is absolutely for cancer, make no mistake.
M is for monosodium glutamate. If that's an ingredient, into the garbage it goes.
N is for narcotics. My roommate's father was a narcotics detective. "He gets me all the best xxxx," my roommate would brag. All through my freshman year I'd wake in a sweat, convinced that I'd been pricked by needles.
O is for Oppenheimer. So now we can destroy the whole planet? Thanks, jerk.
P is for Pringles. I'm allergic, I swear. And crayons make me sniffle. Especially the primary colors.
Q is for quasar. Open your window at 3 a.m. You'll hear them singing, beaming messages into your mind.
R is for Regis Philbin. Open your window at 3 a.m. You'll hear him singing, beaming messages into your mind.
S is for Sasquatch. I do not go camping. S is also for syringe—junkies love to hang out in the woods. (And yes, I still check my sheets every night, just to be certain.)
T is for telecommute. Most offices are cesspools of contagion and you read so much about co-workers going berserk and shooting everyone.
U is for Ultravox. They really suck, but got rich and famous for a while. That keeps me up at night.
V is for vagina. Wait, I meant Viagra. No ... Vagisil. Wait ... is it really all that healthy, being vegan?
W is for welfare. I know I'll end up on the dole one day. Thing is, I don't want to apply, because then I'd have to give the government all this personal information and they'd sit there judging and probably come after me for stealing cable in the '90s. Cable gives you cancer, by the way.
X is for X-ray. Were you examined a lot as kid, because that could explain any number of ... What? Sure, I'll drive you home. Is it OK if I call you sometime?
Y is for yesterday, and I was supposed to do something really important, but I forgot. I'll cut all my CDs in half as punishment until I remember. There goes Björk ... and Ultravox ... that goddamn Bowie box set. Strange, I usually remember by now.
Z is for zoo. Sometimes, I spend the entire day staring at the animals through the bars of their cages. When I see fear in their eyes, I don't feel quite so alone.
BY DAVID GIANATASIO
- - - -
A is for Attica. I could wind up there, abused by guards and prisoners, convicted of a crime I didn't commit.
B is for bed bugs. They're just bits of lint, probably from the woolen socks I've worn since the cold nights began. Still, I could swear I saw one move.
C is for crazy. Don't call me that. Ever. No, wait ... C is for cancer.
D is for drugstore. What if they gave me the wrong medicine? I could go blind or deaf. Or lose my sex drive, or, at the very least, my taste for chocolate. I've read that it happens all the time.
E is for elfin. Your smile, so sweet. My God! Is that a herpes sore on your lip? Sorry, sorry. That was a terrible thing to say. But come on—"birthmark" my ass!
F is for Freudian. On a recent job interview I said I had an abiding interest in "pubic relations." The Human Resources woman chuckled. It probably would've been all right, if I hadn't tried to explain it away as "one of those embarrassing slits."
G is for gangrene. I keep getting these little "holes" in the tips of my fingers that my doctor can't explain.
H is for herring. It turned! It turned! Darkness closing in ... this is the end! Wait ... I hate herring. Always upsets my stomach. Don't know why I keep eating the stuff.
I is for idiosyncrasy. Also, individualism. Both grossly overrated.
J is for jalapeño. They're supposed to burn ... but not like this! Maybe they've turned ...
K is for Kryptonite. Even Superman has his hang-ups.
L is for Lubriderm. I read somewhere that it gives you cancer. Which reminds me: C is absolutely for cancer, make no mistake.
M is for monosodium glutamate. If that's an ingredient, into the garbage it goes.
N is for narcotics. My roommate's father was a narcotics detective. "He gets me all the best xxxx," my roommate would brag. All through my freshman year I'd wake in a sweat, convinced that I'd been pricked by needles.
O is for Oppenheimer. So now we can destroy the whole planet? Thanks, jerk.
P is for Pringles. I'm allergic, I swear. And crayons make me sniffle. Especially the primary colors.
Q is for quasar. Open your window at 3 a.m. You'll hear them singing, beaming messages into your mind.
R is for Regis Philbin. Open your window at 3 a.m. You'll hear him singing, beaming messages into your mind.
S is for Sasquatch. I do not go camping. S is also for syringe—junkies love to hang out in the woods. (And yes, I still check my sheets every night, just to be certain.)
T is for telecommute. Most offices are cesspools of contagion and you read so much about co-workers going berserk and shooting everyone.
U is for Ultravox. They really suck, but got rich and famous for a while. That keeps me up at night.
V is for vagina. Wait, I meant Viagra. No ... Vagisil. Wait ... is it really all that healthy, being vegan?
W is for welfare. I know I'll end up on the dole one day. Thing is, I don't want to apply, because then I'd have to give the government all this personal information and they'd sit there judging and probably come after me for stealing cable in the '90s. Cable gives you cancer, by the way.
X is for X-ray. Were you examined a lot as kid, because that could explain any number of ... What? Sure, I'll drive you home. Is it OK if I call you sometime?
Y is for yesterday, and I was supposed to do something really important, but I forgot. I'll cut all my CDs in half as punishment until I remember. There goes Björk ... and Ultravox ... that goddamn Bowie box set. Strange, I usually remember by now.
Z is for zoo. Sometimes, I spend the entire day staring at the animals through the bars of their cages. When I see fear in their eyes, I don't feel quite so alone.
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