I’m usually a very happy guy. Don’t need drugs or alcohol. Waking up, feeling good, and a hot cup of Joe waiting for me does the trick. Drivers can pass me by, I’ll catch them at the next light. If Starbucks is out of Italian roast, not a problem, I’ll have theVerona. If I get the itch to have a pumpernickel bagel and the bagel shop is all out. Perfect, I’ll have a sesame seed bagel toasted with veggie cream cheese. I draw the line when it comes to picking out avocados at the local market. I don’t have the patience to wait for avocados that are hard as a rock to ripen. It’s even worse if they are too ripe and i give them a squeeze and feel my fingers breaking the skin. What really sets me off is when I find the perfect avocado and my mind instantly creates an image of the best guacamole a human being can make. I get home, rinse off the avocado’s skin, place it on my cutting board. I make my incision as careful as a heart surgeon. When I open it up, I don’t see any green, only gray, gray and darker gray. I count to ten. Not helping. I picture a peaceful lake, still no progress. A little angel whispers in my ear, “Chill out, Ray. Head over to the closest Mexican restaurant. They’re the pros. I’m not cooking tonight. I’ve got tacos and guac in my future.