—fantasizing about falling down stairs while wearing a t-shirt that says “The Dream Died” or “Dream’s Dead” or “Dreams R.I.P” on it.
—having the saddest piss in a pissing contest.
—giving others good advice while I make my own bad decisions.
—self-identifying as that hole in the movie The Gate after someone throws a dead dog in it.
—existing in that kooky place where being a cartoon version of a depressed person and a depressed person IRL meet.
—calling bullshit on those scary movie trailers where they show night vision footage of audience members jumping out of their seats and screaming but zero footage of people playing with their cell phones or sleeping or jerking off.
—unreasonably convincing myself that everyone is secretly mad at me and that it doesn’t really matter.
—building resentment as though it were the LEGO® of my adulthood.
—fantasizing about wanting to slam WWE Superstar John Cena through a flaming table that’s been covered in thumbtacks and broken copies of all the KISS solo LPs except for maybe Ace Frehley’s.
—spending a weekend watching cable TV in your guest bedroom, alone.
—imagining myself randomly getting jumped and then beat up while wearing a “Keepin’ it Realism” t-shirt.
—sexually identifying as someone who proudly owns both the regular version of Eat ’Em and Smile as well as the Spanish version sung by David Lee Roth himself.
—saying “Hey, no worries!” while thinking: Ohhh Fuuuuck!
—having to constantly think negatively about things as though it were an unbreakable, superstitious habit.
—typing “LOL” while actually feeling nothing inside.
—coming to grips with the fact that my life is like that movie It Follows except the “it” is just your everyday, garden-variety existential crisis.
—bragging about how I only do keg stands ironically.
—contemplating how the gray in my hair pretty much looks like someone came in it and, like, the come dried, so basically dried cum.
—depressing the shit out of people in their 20s by telling them what they have to look forward to in their 30s.
—self-identifying as the soul of a 60 year-old cat lady with hoarding tendencies.
—becoming gripped by the sudden fear of having once gone through a rockabilly phase without even realizing it.
—turning all your junk mail into a “found” art project simply titled Miranda July Swag.
—only going through the motions of being a human being, finding no real joy or purpose in any of it, but whatevz…
—thinking I’d be good at conventions ’cause I can sit at a table and want to die just like the best of them.
—subsisting on kindness as well as the broken remnants at the bottom of an Extreme Queso Grande Doritos bag.
—convincing people that the Internet is my “forever” home.
—saying “Yeah, yeah, let’s meet up!” while thinking: The world is a vampire.
—exploding into disappointment confetti while maybe smiling.
—making a shitty Triumph the Insult Comic Dog-like hand puppet but calling it “Failure the Insult Comic Frog” and then harassing strangers on the street with it. No cameras.