Almost Cacti

 I know this sounds cliche, and I know that saying it's cliche is cliche, and saying it's cliche is cliche is cliche, but do you know that feeling of going out one day to not really mean to do anything special but just futz around the mall, eat FishBall Ramen and other Dimsum before brownies and Dunkin Donuts medium brew and maybe visit some toy store and then it just hit you to buy more toys even though it wasn't that long ago you bought a whole 40-piece package of Pokemon and Naruto totems? And go to the Transformers Toys section and check if they have StarScream action figures even if you're quite unsure if you've got the right name of that Decepticon in the movie you missed but in the original cartoon series you always associate with innocence? And then head on to the Beyblade aisle and pick up some latest models that won't fob you off but still would include the Beyblade launchers you know you can't use the digital Beyblade Top without? And then while you're at it you might as well pick up two Hot wheel cars and a skateboard toy before grabbing that G.I. Joe Snake Eye action figure beside the Darth Vader keychain which you'd also get because why no?

And then go to BookSale and buy Vanity Fair, Discover, and Harper Magazines where Jean Paul Sartre's duologue (omigod I'm so pretentious, using that word) with someone I don't know is put on record? And a G.I. Joe coloring book which have sticker graphics like Oatmeal's? And then a pencil shaped like intentionally tasteful flotsam? And then maybe, just maybe, to make it a wee bit special you decide to, well, just purchase, I don't know, a cactus plant? And before opening all the toys you decide to stare at them while you eat your corned tuna and corn grits dinner in your apartment alone? And write about it after reading The Magic Income Number by Freakonomics? Do you know how that feels? How that feels, alone?