So Saturday I spent most of the day holed up working on this article I am writing for a collection on collecting. Sometime shortly before midnight, I ran out of cigarettes and made an addict's run to the RiteAid. Holy mother of God! I walk in there and there are a fucking gazillion people. It was so surreal. It was like 11:45 at night and there are hoards of shoppers milling around clutching stuffed bunnies and bags of pink cellophane grass and boxes of peeps. Right, Easter. I had horrifying visions for just a moment of being trapped in some sort of George Romero Easter movie--Resurrection of the Living Dead or something.
Anyway, it was just one of those total Man Who Fell to Earth moments. Those of you who write/make movies/etc may know what I mean--that feeling of other worldliness when you emerge from the den having just communed with the keyboard for way too long. It's like coming up from deep sea diving without enough decompression time. And that's under the best of circumstances. Then to be confronted with teeming masses of "he is risen; let's eat chocolate" consumers. It was intense, I tell you.