depression bratwurst

I'm drowning in unreality.
my mouth is half open. It is drooling slowly.

I hear a sweet melody.
My phone sends harmonies through the Air.

I pick it up.
I see the time. It is later than I feel.
It is 1.30 pm.

I mumble. Actually I stutter through my mumblings.
We reconvene. We will speak later.
My friend can't understand a word I'm saying.

I drown right back in unreality.
an unreality of success, women, respect, money, happiness and whatnot.

-"R!!"
-"mmmyeahrghh?"
-"lunch is ready"
-"I'mrghhh crhhhhming"

I catch some air.
again
It seems nobody wants to let me drown in peace.
Nothing is as quiet as the deep end of one's soul.
But I am not allowed to stay there for long.
Some people feel I should feed.
I cannot disagree to that argument on a rational level.

I sit at the table.
The upper lamp, with its bright, white, incandescent tungsten illuminates the food platter.
chicken
potatoes
a miracle
But my body is not awake yet.

My grandma is looking at me, sitting in front of me, impatient. If I don't eat, I am probably going to die a young unacceptable death.

-"I'm just so...so completely depressed" I say
-"Have you had breakfast?"
-"what? oh come on!!"
-"what? you can't understimate the link between a physical well-being and a mental one"
-"right, sure and breakfast is the key"
-"well, why do you think they have such big breakfasts in Holland?"
-"right, and no-one is depressed in Holland, in Germany neither, with all their morning Bratwursts".
-"exactly"
-"you know what? I'm going to publish a paper in a Psychology review titled Breakfast: the miracle solution!. It will explain why pshychologists all accross northern europe are out of work because people are having breakfast. How can you possible be depressed, sad or anguished if you have a solid start right at the beginning of the day?"

The most ironic thing of it all is that I'm having chicken for breakfast !!

I need to drown in unreality again. I can't handle the pressure.