Tannic Depression

Last night I was sitting indian-style on the floor next to our crusty crimson couch while sipping tea with milk. I was browsing through examples of Phil Spector's work on youtube after having wrapped up a game of Clue with my roommates. The four of us had been indulging in a nice bottle of wine and dark chocolate just prior to my stint on the hardwood. To my right was a half-full glass of Cabernet. For some reason I had placed the tea on my left and while listening to Phil's "wall of sound" I persisted to instinctively grab for the wine with my right hand only to remember I was drinking tea just before touching the lonely wine glass.

This subconscious behavior repeated itself six or seven times and I soon placed my tea to the right as well -between the myself and the wine. This strategy had the desired effect and before long I was sipping the last tepid drop of my night cap. It was about this time where my two pals on the couch retired to bed and bid me adieu. As I continued to wrap my head around the complexities of "Da Do Ron Ron" my third roommate came back out into the living room and resumed the spot on the couch she had occupied while Miss Scarlet was committing murder in the ball room with the revolver. This roommate opened her lap top to finish some business before heading off to bed herself and we struck up conversation about a mutual friend.

As we proceeded to chit chat I realized that this glass of wine had indeed not been finished, the other two must have left it there. Well, those who have known me for more then a New York minute know I never waste California wine and with a proud swill and a cupped tongue I downed the glass that had aggressively taunted me just minutes before. As the last drop of tannic liquid evaporated into my soft pallet I realized, however, that this was indeed the glass of wine that my third roommate had been enjoying earlier and she may have had every intention of finishing it before hitting the proverbial sack. Having let the initial moment for apology slip past due to my overly verbose inner monologue cursing myself with a polymer of expletives I now noticed my friend's eyes awkwardly dart from the glass in my hand back to her computer screen. The acidity of the wine had caused my mouth to salivate heavily, I swallowed hard, and noticed the feeling of sediment rubbing, as salt does to wounds, on my tongue. I placed the glass back down hastily as my mind scrambled to find something distracting to talk about.

What the fuck has happened? Instead of the obvious admission of wrongdoing and apology that would bring on an accepting smile and maybe even a hardy chuckle my neuroses had paralyzed my mind in a feedback loop of "Oh shit oh shit oh shit stupid stupid why why oh shit oh shit oh shit!" Another awkward moment born of nothing but neurotic behavior.
Sorry roommate. I owe you a glass of wine.

-Raw