You Tell Me What This Means

What the hell is going on this week? It was 94 in L.A. two days ago. Now it's just warm and it rained for 2 minutes this morning before the sun came back out, made the street steam, and then increased the humidity to 100%. My mother told me she's playing Euchre online but doesn't like that "people are looking at her." Then she told me we were not exchanging gifts for Christmas. Um, OK. Others are flailing in some kind of stupor--boyfriends coming or going; election hell; general ennui. I managed to give myself the largest bruise I've ever had, that makes it look like someone spilled a cup of blood under my skin. Then there was today on my lunch break: parking near the park on 3rd and Gardner to zip to the Grave (aka The Grove, a hideous mall) to go to the Apple Store to look at my iPod--which incidentally my computer has decided does not exist and will not recognize. (Did I mention too that my garage door is haunted and now just opens and closes of its own accord and that my car alarm has taken to going off for no reason? Add that to the list). So, there I am, parking, and out of a Jeep Cherokee across the street is a really attractive man in expensive jeans, boots, and a knit cap, with no shirt on. He walks into the park, a jockstrap showing above his waistband, clearly showing off his chiseled torso. OK.... I am still on the phone with my mother, walking some distance behind him, and off he goes to do...tricep dips on some bars in the park. Fine. Whatever. Into the mall I go, emerging by the patch of grass and fountain in the middle of the complex, where three people who look like a cross between clowns and Pippi Longstocking are dancing and singing to a crowd of kids...some....song....about....respect?...I think...I am too distracted by clown noses, red, orange, and yellow wigs, white face makeup, and horrible sing-songy, vaguely carnivalesque music. I dart into the Apple store, where I learn my iPod is gaslighting me. There's nothing wrong with it. Fine. Back out into the mall to walk to the car, and now the dancing fountain is swaying to "Last Dance" by Donna Summer, adjacent to the Pippi Clowns, who are angry and have started singing louder and LOUDER to drown it out, plastic smiles riveted to their hideously made-up faces. I almost run through Nordstrom to get out, out, out...only to have to cross the park again, where tricep dips are still happening. It's now 80+ degrees, humid, and may..or may not... rain again. I jump in the car and sit for a moment, wondering if this is how people become agoraphobic. I can't get home fast enough. Where my power is now out...for...no....apparent...reason. Oh, wait, now it's back on! So. Um. Back to work.