I spent this afternoon at the Regent Square Theater seeing a double feature that was part of the Satires of War film series: Duck Soup followed by Dr. Strangelove...or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb. I hadn't seen either one in years.
Marx Brothers movies always make me think of ratphooey, because back in the day, she was always Margaret Dumont to my Groucho Marx. I refuse to explain further on the grounds that if enough people bug her about it, maybe she'll post some pictures (I would do it myself but I lack the technology).
I spent the rest of my time obsessing, and obsessing about obsessing, and obsessing about obsessing about obsessing. At one point I was actually sitting in my car and yelling at myself. "What the Hell's wrong with you, Hope?! Quit being fucking ridiculous!" Realizing that I was actually yelling was enough to snap me out of it for the moment ... enough to get my ass out of the car, at any rate.
If I start acting like I'm sane, will I start becoming sane again? If I act like I'm OK, will I eventually become OK? If I sing "I'm a little teapot," will I become short and stout? Oh wait ... I already am ...