failing economy

You say that I worry too much. You take another drag of your cigarette... I just hold mine uncomfortably.

You are probably right, it's true, I'm a nervous wreck. And the cigarettes only make it worse.

I start wondering about all the caffeine in my system: 3 cups of coffee, 60 ounces of diet coke, 2 glasses of tea. My teeth probably don't appreciate the abuse, and neither does my stomach. But is this something to worry about? Something to change? Addictions are dangerous; anything in excess kills, and the stress of worrying is killing me right now.

"Relax," you say in your soothing, parental voice.

But, honestly, how can one relax during an economic crisis?

There is madness on the streets. Revolution, or something like it. The noises reverberate through the walls in my room, the distant cheers, resounding screams. These are the sounds of long-anticipated victory.

Outside my window, there is a large group of girls, and because of the darkness, it is difficult to discern who they are, but they are hugging. There is some sort of connection. They may be very old friends, or they may have just met one another at the pub, but tonight, tonight it doesn't matter... tonight.

For a moment, I want to be out there, running around, screaming like a lunatic, and yet.. I am too sober, too serious, and maybe even too cynical. Sipping my tea quietly, I wonder about false revolutions. I worry about false messiahs.

What does it feel like to let go, for even a minute? To be carefree and spontaneous? It must be a whole different world out there, beyond this apartment.