A Comprehensive Report on Recent Emotional Incidents

A micro-series in four regrettably personal inventories

You’ve probably already peaked and didn’t notice.
What if you just moved to a lighthouse and never told anyone? (Arguably not a bad idea)
Does your grocer secretly hate you?
If you fall asleep right now, you’ll get 3 hours and 46 minutes. That’s basically a good nights sleep.
What if you forgot how to be a person and no one told you?
Why are you like this.
You should learn the banjo. That’ll fix it. (It did)
Remember when you pronounced ciabatta wrong? That waiter likely won’t forget.
Is your body haunted, or is that just the last night’s Skip the Dishes order?

Bake banana bread and give it a passive aggressive name.
Stare out the window and pretend I’m in a music video about emotional repression.
Alphabetize the items in my fridge.
Adopt a cat and immediately tell it all my secrets. (Ok, but maybe…)
Learn to juggle and use that as a metaphor for literally nothing.
Write a heartfelt letter to my past self and then set it on fire for dramatic effect.
Start a podcast called Anything but That.
Cry into a tortilla and eat it for lunch.
Rewatch a movie that hurt me once just to see if it still does.
Invent a problem just so I can fix it and feel accomplished.
Cook something with too many steps. Give up, defeated, at step 3.
Likely still go.

Move it near a window then whisper “me too”.
Name it something powerful, like Gertrude or President Moss.
Play it lo-fi jazz beats and let it disassociate in peace.
Don’t repot it. Then let it hate where it is for a bit. Builds character I’m told.
Remind it that decay isn’t failure, it’s just one of the moods.
Sit beside it and let the silence be enough
Tell it: “You don’t have to bloom. You just have to vibe.”
Rotate it 90 degrees and peretend that’s progress.

To the bathroom door: You were closed. That was your only crime.
To the chair leg: I stubbed my toe and blamed you.
To the fridge handle: You’ve held so many impulsive midnight openings. I snapped.
To the laundry basket: You weren’t even in the way. I just needed something to hurl.
To the closet door: I said things. I regret the tone. But that’s not where I left you.
To the pillow: Thank you for holding the screams.
To the fishing hook: Ok, maybe I was in the way that time.
To gravity: I’d punch you if I could. You’re the worst one of all.

Ghosts of the Navigator