The other night I got dangerously wasted in a They Might Be Giants t-shirt, and it felt wrong. It felt amoral, actually.
Maybe I’m not eating enough, maybe I’m just eating the wrong stuff. Like cake. Because I was holding a plate of cake earlier, and my arms shook with weakness, unable to hold up the medium-sized cake slice. Am I dying? I gobbled down the cake before my trembling hands dropped my Fiesta plate.
My laundry had been sitting on top of an ant infestation I did not become aware of until I arrived at the laundromat. Halfway into “the SpinZone” I realized ants were crawling all over me, and they were filing out of the full hamper clutched to my chest. I tossed the laundry teeming with life into the laundry and power-rinsed the mother fuckers.