Uploaded December 2021 | Updated September 2026, 46 minutes ago
I told my mom that I’d get a job when I was almost out of milk
And I did: house-sitting for a friend who paid the rent and bailed the place just days before the lease was up, so here I am.
I went straight to the kitchen to finish my dinner and checked in the freezer and found some Ezekiel Bread that was coated in ice, so I turn on the oven and discover it wasn’t warming or plugged in and once it was it did nothing and the toaster’s broke and won’t toast toast so I’m supposed to eat frozen bread as is I guess.
I go out and walk past the Sonic and all I got is four quarters in my pocket. I spent three quarters of an hour being mindful about it and now there’s just one quarter left and I’m more or less as Buddhalike as previously.
So I go back home and watch Jordan Peterson to help me think seriously about shaping up my life but I’m satisfied with the circle I’ve designed for myself to run in, but it’s nice to imagine who I’d like to be someday. I’d like to practice a habit that’s actually practical and not an addiction, though I happen to think my caffeine-creation might make for a career if coffee makes practice makes perfect coffee makes practically anything possible for about five minutes. And once that’s over, I’m back on Craigslist scrolling the gigs and checking for ones within biking distance and find none which is fine because my bike’s in pieces anyway.
I lay on the floor and try to sleep and that first night in the house I had this outrageous dream: I was sinking in a warm glass of organic milk and I was striving and fighting and falling and calling and cackling and cursing and screaming and reaming and catching curd with my toes while I was kicking and spitting and swallowing and wallowing and judging and rubbing and writhing and sinking into milk that turned brown where I touched it. My fingers flipped and my heart was rushing as I sunk down in the brown and then…
It was morning.
I told my mom that I’d get a job when I was almost out of milk
And I did: house-sitting for a friend who paid the rent and bailed the place just days before the lease was up, so here I am.
I went straight to the kitchen to finish my dinner and checked in the freezer and found some Ezekiel Bread that was coated in ice, so I turn on the oven and discover it wasn’t warming or plugged in and once it was it did nothing and the toaster’s broke and won’t toast toast so I’m supposed to eat frozen bread as is I guess.
I go out and walk past the Sonic and all I got is four quarters in my pocket. I spent three quarters of an hour being mindful about it and now there’s just one quarter left and I’m more or less as Buddhalike as previously.
So I go back home and watch Jordan Peterson to help me think seriously about shaping up my life but I’m satisfied with the circle I’ve designed for myself to run in, but it’s nice to imagine who I’d like to be someday. I’d like to practice a habit that’s actually practical and not an addiction, though I happen to think my caffeine-creation might make for a career if coffee makes practice makes perfect coffee makes practically anything possible for about five minutes. And once that’s over, I’m back on Craigslist scrolling the gigs and checking for ones within biking distance and find none which is fine because my bike’s in pieces anyway.
I lay on the floor and try to sleep and that first night in the house I had this outrageous dream: I was sinking in a warm glass of organic milk and I was striving and fighting and falling and calling and cackling and cursing and screaming and reaming and catching curd with my toes while I was kicking and spitting and swallowing and wallowing and judging and rubbing and writhing and sinking into milk that turned brown where I touched it. My fingers flipped and my heart was rushing as I sunk down in the brown and then…
It was morning.
