My fancy new headphones keep cutting in and out, exactly like the old style wired headphones would do when one of my many Walkman (Walkmen?) were on their last legs because the jack was wearing out.

This has me in such an agitated state that it makes me want to hit somebody, preferably someone responsible for this situation.

I mean, what the proverbial fuck? How can this be happening to me again? All I wanted was to be able to groove to my tunes while I get from Point A to Point B. Why is that such a hard thing for me to achieve?

I have an experiment I plan to do where I connect the headphones to my other tablet to see if it’s the originating station’s fault, or the receiving.

If it’s the originating, that’s bad but I can deal with it. I was thinking of getting a new tablet anywhere, or if not, at least a dedicated MP3 player.

One with a display, though. None of that iPod Nano bullshit.

But if it’s the receiving end, in other words my fancy schmancy new $70 headphones, heads are going to roll. The literature on the things says it has a range of 30 feet.

That should handle the distance between my ears and my pocket just fine.

I wouldn’t be nearly this upset if it didn’t involve my music. My tunes, man. I get really emotional about my music. Having something happen while I am listening to my music is extremely traumatic to me. Music is inherently based on maintaining flow, and to have that shattered not just once but over and over in a random way in the span of seconds is like torture to me and my poor nervous system.

The distress is heightened by what happened over the course of last week. I had been wanting to listen to music on the way to and from school all week. But either it would be raining, or the tablet I use for mp3’s wouldn’t be charged up, or the headphones themselves would have lost their charge, or I would be all set to do it then forget to take either tablet or headphones with me.

And that’s a kind of torture too.

But I figured I had it sussed today. Everything was charged, I had both halves of the equation with me, it wasn’t raining, and I was only going one block to my pharmacy to get my meds.

But no, the goddamned thing started to cut in and out, a little at first, and then more and more, exactly like what would happen in my Walkman days. So it’s not just torture, it’s progressive torture, as if it was designed specifically to break me.

This is the sort of thing that reinforces my impression that life is hard on us sensitive artistic types in ways regular people could not possibly understand. Normal people would not be nearly as upset by this situation as I am because they don’t connect with music on a deep emotional level like I do.

It’s the most right-brained thing I am into. And I need that kind of thing. Us overly cerebral types really need something that bypasses our overweaning superegos and connects with our emotions directly, and mess with them if it is needed.

We need something to run the icy blockade and bring badly needed supplies to our besieged hearts.

Plus, of course, I am still fretful and anxious about the whole new computer thing. That already has me on a state of heightened emotional amplitude. Plus I do have some caffeine in my veins.

If I am going to keep drinking Diet Coke, I am going to want to learn to keep the extra energy from turning into anxiety. I really want it to actually lift my mood. That would be way, way better.

But right now, my mood is still too damned heavy.

I have done some other online shopping lately too. I ordered some expensive fat-guy sneakers. $160, and that was on sale. But hopefully these will at least be able to bear my weight without flattening. They might even let me walk comfortably and without pain.

It’s a dream worth paying for.

I have also ordered two pairs of fat-guy pants from the Mr. Big And Tall website. That was not at all fun. It is incredibly depressing to find out that even in a store dedicated to serving the overweight, you are too fat for most of the clothing.

Most of their jeans only went up to 48 inch waists. That’s almost a foot too short for me. I am starting to think that my realistic weight loss goal should be less “fat” to “skinny” and more “gigantic freak of nature” to “regular sized freak of nature”.

Oh well. Two more pairs of jeans are wending their way to me. That’s the important part. I will then have four, and that will be more better than have two, like I do now.

Having only two means I do laundry every other day, sometimes more, and that makes me nervous that I will wear them out with overwashing and then have none.

It is a severe liability to be without pants in these modern times if you are a dude.

The last thing I am going to order (that I know of) is a wallet. Mine is slowly and gracefully falling apart, and seeing as I have had it for around twenty years, its retirement is long overdue.

I am bracing myself for option paralysis when I go to make the purchase though. There’s a lot of types of wallet out there and my needs are strictly functional. I am tempted to get one of those “magic wallets” I see on TV that say they can hold all your cash and change and cards and get no bigger than a deck of cards. I am dying to know if they can live up to that claim.

But it’s probably bullshit. I bet you can do that with any wallet if everything in it is super organized. And I ain’t got time for that shit.

Ain’t nobody got time for that shit.

Well that’s all my aggravation for today, folks. Thanks for reading.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.