Hooked on Everything and Going Mad

I am going mad. This madness is caused by my propensity to get hooked on everything. I don't mean hooked like addiction, I mean hooked like hooked. I walk in or out of my back door, and my blue jean jacket buttons or sleeve hooks on the door handle, whipping me backward and almost causing me to break my neck. Even the small loop on the potholder will latch on to something if I give it a chance. Perhaps it is the ghost of Captain Hook, after all I did play Peter Pan in my elementary school play. This is driving me crazy.

It is 6:30 in the morning and I have just finished vacuuming my small house. The vacuum cleaner, a popular canister model from Sears, got hung up at least 15 times. The chord, the hose, the attachment, the canister. The day hasn't even started and already my anxiety is shooting up the scale. It is all I can do to hold myself back from kicking the damn thing.

Even taking off my clothes evokes this queer thing. I will hook my t-shirt on my ponytail as I pull it over my head, which then causes me to hook my glasses. In frustration I rip off the shirt, and glasses and hair go flying. I then stand in front of the mirror, squinting at my reflection, disheveled hair, topless, mad. Not a pretty sight.

Yesterday I pulled my hammock out of the garage, a large woven cloth hammock with the usual strands of rope at the ends. And yes, it hooked on everything in the garage, knocked over the recycling, the cooler, and almost tripped me. Even setting it up caused a hook up with the apple tree branches.

I dread the thought of brushing my hair this morning, because I know when I pull the brush out of the wicker basket a half dozen hair ties will tag along for the ride. It will take one of those cloth scrunchies right along with it then promptly dump it in the toilet. I will bend down to pick the thing out of the water and whatever is in my shirt pocket will inevitably fall out and join the floating parade. Storming out of the bathroom, I will surely hook my t-shirt or something on the door handle.

Hence my madness. I am considering setting up house in the big field out back, where nothing, and I mean nothing, can hook me. Except perhaps the freedom of no walls. Then I'd really be in trouble.