Posthuman Blues

No matter where I am, I can't stem my craving for bling. It doesn't matter what form it takes: fancy watches, jewelry, hubcaps, cellphone accessories. Purpose is irrelevant. I routinely walk out of stores with pockets bulging with the shiny stuff, unable to remember where, specifically, I managed to acquire it.

So I concoct crude rationalizations for what's obviously become an obsession. "Oh, they must have been free gifts. Promotional giveaways." That sort of thing. Later, considering how easily my mind adopts these lame fictions as authentic events leaves me worried. As I sit fondling the day's loot, I find myself light-headed, nervous. As if my memory harbors events it would rather not share. Not that I dare tempt it.

Bling, baby. It's all about the bling.

(Note: The events recounted in this post are fictitious.)