When I start to feel the acid in the back of my throat, I don't question if it's something I've eaten. Surely, it's that-- absenteeism from grocery-shopping has resulted in a smattering of ingredients that sit in a mush in the same bowl, and if said ingredients had eyebrows, they would be raised, cockeyed, and perhaps pitying yours truly.
In addition to something I've eaten, I'm sure the internet is plotting against me. Maybe not me, personally. What can a single girl with a short attention span and nearly zero resources do? I'm not of consequence, but the internet is still encroaching. My computer's geriatric processing speed, my stomach's intolerance for sugar, my quadricep's nag during the first quarter of a mile, my lazy eyes, my lazier remote control, my need for something to always be happening: I blame the internet.
Unfortunately, I stumble upon life-hacking sites where bloggers list their top 500 tips to living a more fulfilled life, or losing twenty pounds, or dating the guy of one's dreams. If the screen could hear me, it might not hear my voice, but it might pick up on the familiar scritch of a dry-erase marker on my mirror making a giant Venn diagram to outline the overlapping redundancies in each of these lists. As much as "living in the present" is a liberating thought, I'm not interested when it's supposed to help me: 1) lose weight, 2) earn a Masters degree online or 3) speak to the tribulation of a starlet who fell from grace and into a pile of pills all at the same time. What does it even mean by that point? I thought it was for meditation, or yoga retreats.
That said, life doesn't want much from me. And, the internet is showing, I don't want much from it. So this leaves me lapping up the humidity on my porch, composing a percussion solo in time with my gurgling dyspepsia, or considering what my mind would be filled with if I were brave enough to swim in the apartment pool and dunk underwater. I fear I'll still sift the same static. I fear I'll surf the web of my brain and realize I don't know what to do here. Realize that I don't know how to break out of this holding pattern.
In addition to something I've eaten, I'm sure the internet is plotting against me. Maybe not me, personally. What can a single girl with a short attention span and nearly zero resources do? I'm not of consequence, but the internet is still encroaching. My computer's geriatric processing speed, my stomach's intolerance for sugar, my quadricep's nag during the first quarter of a mile, my lazy eyes, my lazier remote control, my need for something to always be happening: I blame the internet.
Unfortunately, I stumble upon life-hacking sites where bloggers list their top 500 tips to living a more fulfilled life, or losing twenty pounds, or dating the guy of one's dreams. If the screen could hear me, it might not hear my voice, but it might pick up on the familiar scritch of a dry-erase marker on my mirror making a giant Venn diagram to outline the overlapping redundancies in each of these lists. As much as "living in the present" is a liberating thought, I'm not interested when it's supposed to help me: 1) lose weight, 2) earn a Masters degree online or 3) speak to the tribulation of a starlet who fell from grace and into a pile of pills all at the same time. What does it even mean by that point? I thought it was for meditation, or yoga retreats.
That said, life doesn't want much from me. And, the internet is showing, I don't want much from it. So this leaves me lapping up the humidity on my porch, composing a percussion solo in time with my gurgling dyspepsia, or considering what my mind would be filled with if I were brave enough to swim in the apartment pool and dunk underwater. I fear I'll still sift the same static. I fear I'll surf the web of my brain and realize I don't know what to do here. Realize that I don't know how to break out of this holding pattern.
