Colourful Moods

Do you have those moments when life feels like an Ingmar Bergman movie; when even pushing a foot forward takes near-herculean effort.
I do. And I hate them.
During those trying times, which generally occur the morning after drowning myself in an Royal Challenge bottle or the night before a test that I'm gonna flunk, I notice things that I would never do otherwise.
The ant crawling up the wall - making krrch-krrch sounds that only my heightened senses can catch; the ceiling fan wobbling unsteadily over my head; the deafening drip drip of water escaping a leaky faucet in the kitchen; the salesman out there, selling something that sounds very much like MUCHIKREE, MUCHIKREE; the incessant tick-tock of the glimmering table-clock; and shadows creeping up the wall in vain attempts to find a place they can retire to.
I wouldn't refer to these moments as blue ones. Blue is a beautiful colour.
I would call them brown-with-a-tinge-of-ugly-green moments. Because, unlike the greater poets, I don't burst into verse everytime I am down. When I have these moments, my system shuts down completely, an incurable writer's block takes over and I become sensationless - save for that horrible gnawing at my soul. And even when I am spoken to, sources say that the best I can manage is a sound very similar to errrmmm, duh!
Could you believe it, the brown-with-a-tinge-of-ugly-green moments overshadow even the scariest Nightmare-on-what-could-possibly-be-Elm-Street ones. And, for one thing, the Elm-Street moments are exciting, not depressing.
Let me tell you about them. Imagine me walking down a lonely street, with nobody around. A full moon's out and bats whirl around in glee. And yet, I walk around with a tune in my head and feet that go hoppity-hop, skippety-skip. Everything's pink - everything's going my way - until I think I see a shadowy figure following me. "Oooh, Now didn't his top hat look like Freddy Krueger's? Is it him with his fancy fangs?"
Now, deep down, I know that its just my imagination. So I slow down to check if the guy is real... "Nobody there... just like I thought."
But the Elm-Street moment cannot be shrugged off that easily. Even as a shiver runs up my spine, I think, "Hey, he was there just a minute ago... Krueger's disappeared. Just like he does in those movies."
Suddenly I can't take it anymore, and so I break into a run. Run all the way home.
From then on, it's Evil Dead, Exorcist and Omen all along. I jump into the shower only to be reminded of the blonde lady in Psycho. I tremble my way through, and not just because of the cold water. Finally, a relieved me comes out of the bath and leaps into bed. Only to be reminded of that scary scene in Halloween when the bed opens up to swallow the one on it. And even as I mutter the Lord's prayer and surround myself with Bibles and crucifixes, monsters under my bed gnash their teeth non-stop till daybreak.
At the stroke of seven, I stumble off the bed bleary-eyed to start my day - which promises to be filled with yet more brown-with-a-tinge-of-ugly-green moments. It's a vicious cycle, indeed.
But it's the orange moments that I like best. They are nice and fulfilling. During orange moments, I feel like THE dude... like I am the king of the world. I feel like I can do anything I want to.
But orange moments are also expensive. You need at least four pegs on the rocks to bring them about. And they, by the next morning, darken deeply to become brown-with-a-tinge-of-ugly-green moments (or a splitting headache) too. GAH!
P.S. I don't have red moments often. Abhor violence.