I return to my modest apartment after a wholesome, fulfilling shift at my tolerable job. I remove my coat and push my glasses further up my nose, the lenses steaming up as I enter the room. I prepare a quick meal that doesn't taste like horse shit, and as it cooks I sit and stare idly out of my window holding my ball python, noodle. Noodle winds around my wrist in an affectionate gesture. When the timer goes off, I return noodle to its enclosure and plate up my food. I eat curled up on the sofa. David Attenborough documentaries play on my appropriately sized tv. When my meal is done, I put the plate by the sink and place the cd album '2' by mac demarco in the cd player. I sing along as I wash up, and the song 'together' comes to an end as I wipe down the counter. I sit at my desk, sketching mindlessly in an aesthetically pleasing sketchbook. My phone goes off; it's a text message from a cute girl I talked to in the coffee shop before work. I respond, a content smile on my face.
All is well.
YOU ARE READING
my crappy, existential thoughts dump
Randomnote from the far future, in much better times; consider this book a diary, an archive, a live day by day biography- of the lowest point of my life so far. draw entertainment from it, by all means, but take it as a warning, of all the bad that comes...
