My original intention had been to leave my Fortress of Solitude a week sooner, but the very thought of returning to the intellectual tar pit we call the American citizenry depressed me and every time I considered it, the decision to extend my voluntary isolation was unequivocal.
As some of you might infer from my phrasing, the past few weeks were decidedly not of the Walden variety. I did not seclude myself in an attempt to better understand the society around me, but rather hid my mind and body away from a population I considered to be little more than an over-sized Agar plate – a viral culture dish teeming with debilitating diseases that just happen to have developed bipedal mobility and opposable thumbs.
Put simply, I was really starting to hate people.
Those of you who have seen the medical drama House might have some idea what I feared I was evolving into: an obnoxious but commanding asshole who, motivated as much by his chronic pain as his desire to succeed, abuses everyone around him with his singular brand of callous and cruel convictions. Dr. House is considerably smarter and better-looking than I am, but then I don't devour Vicodin like they're Junior Mints and my American accent is authentic so, you know, it pretty much evens out.
If you’ll allow me to quickly summarize it, I think a scene from one of the episodes* I watched near the start of my sabbatical should clarify things nicely:
Unable to determine what’s killing a small boy and desperate for more usable data, Dr. House suggests performing a spinal tap at vertebrae C2 or C3 – a precarious procedure, and profoundly risky even for the most experienced physician. Although they desperately covet a sample of the child's cerebrospinal fluid, his medical team balks, citing the high potential for permanent paralysis associated with a cervical puncture. The response offered by House is as inarguable as it is insensitive: "Ask the parents if they prefer to have their son in a wheelchair or dead."
I believe my exact reaction to that was gleefully shouting, "Ha! Take that, bitches!!"
Clearly, the new upgrade to Kirkware v42.1.0 had some bugs.
Anyway, sorry I left without so much as a “fuckthisshit-kirkneedsabreak,” but at the time, I was trying to shake off mankind the way an eight-year-old girl shakes off a handful of caterpillars. If it helps, my weeks of neurotic reclusiveness were not spent on the sofa staring at the television and passively inventing a more pungent personal odor (although I was able to squeeze in a bit of that, as well). Among other things, I finally pushed out a new t-shirt design that’s been languishing for months. In fact, whadda ya know, here it is right here!
You’ll probably get to read about other ways in which my xenophobic outbreak manifested itself, but I felt it important to mention the one that involved potential cash flow. You understand.
Oh, and to those of you who have sent me posts or PMs: Please allow a few days for me to catch up, a’ight? Right now, I gotta split. I'm missing an episode of House.