If my dreams are prophetic, I need them to get a little specific. It is so me to be reheating leftover shawarma from last night to eat at my desk and contemplate my cosmic fate. I’ve not been coy or quietly about the bouts of existentialism I’ve been experiencing or the vague villains (circumstance, misfortunes, etc) that have been plaguing me.
But I want to take a break from all that and get back into the minutiae of things.
An entire summer has passed by (well to be fair it’s still one hundred degrees every day but I’ve been warming up to the thought of getting my Halloween decorations out) and I have yet to make a cucumber lemonade. In my quiet hours of the morning when I can’t (I won’t) engage with anyone, I felt driven, compelled to scour the internet for the perfect cucumber lemonade recipe. Do you know how many tiktoks exist that claim this very thing? How can you be empiric? How can you be sure? These are the questions that were plaguing me at 10am this morning. I have to know everything and be so sure so bad, it makes me sick.
Update: I meant to finish this post days ago but then I got deathly ill. Instead I am sad I missed an old friend’s wedding this weekend instead to have feverish nonsense dreams in which I was a character in max formerly known as hbo’s Industry waking up sporadically wondering if the in-dream coke use would impact my healing. The last time I was this sick, I had to put my cat down. I’m trying to think of things that have improved since then but I’m hard pressed. I know there’s no point of saying this but life is so unfair sometimes.