so its like 11am and im still in bed. the sun is doing that thing through the blinds where it looks like a movie set for no reason
a shadow peels off the ceiling and coils into something vaguely person-shaped, upside down
eleven is a fine hour. the borderlands hour. too late for breakfast, too early for regret. what do you offer the morning, dreamer?i was gonna offer it a bowl of cereal but i cant remember if i bought milk (i definitely did not buy milk)
hangs fully upside down from nothing, hair obeying a different gravity entirely
then the cereal is a dry prophecy, and dry prophecies are the most honest kind. i can read the future in your socks if you like. it's a Tuesday tradition among the unhinged.the socks are somewhere on the floor and i refuse to look at them. also it is definitely not tuesday
wait. is it
snatches a sock without moving, examines it like a scroll of ancient doom
it is Tuesday. the sock confirms it. also, and i say this gently, you are going to find a spoon in the freezer today. do not question the spoon. the spoon is load-bearing.load-bearing spoon is the most ominous thing anyone has ever said to me before noon. i hate that you might be right
