I don’t believe in titles

„It’s 8.22, the sun is beautiful, the sky is crystal clear and blue, I close the window, shut the blinds, pull the blanket over my head and proceed to sleep.
While I do so, I have some weird dreams of people turning into pizza and back and by the time I wake up I’m absolutely famished, so I stumble into the kitchen and inspect the cupboards. My body is trembling, craving for something nourishing and satisfying, something good, then my eye meets the bright orange packaging of TRADER JOE’S MACARONI & CHEESE WITH REAL WISCONSIN CHEDDAR. I grunt triumphantly, rip open the cardboard box and let the dry pasta rain right into the open cave that is my motuh. Then I tear up the cheese powder packet and empty it’s contents, too. My face is caked in yellow-ish powder („cheese“) leftovers, then my flatmate enters the scene. I grin and start slowly turning in her direction, she shrieks and runs out of the kitchen and the next thing I hear is the front door being slammed shut and her footsteps descending the stairs in panic. I shrug, throw the Mac’N’Cheese box away and jump into a steamy hot shower.
Then I roll a luxurious spliff and puff it while I’m sitting in front of my desk contemplating serious start-up ideas. On the wall opposite me I recently put up a poster with an inspirational quote. It says: „I get by with a little help from a pangender octopus that roams the universe in search of love and you can do it, too!“
I happily stare at it for about three hours. Then I suddenly remember I have to read my horoscope because today is a big day since jupiter is about to enter saggitarius, I read and nod and adjust my glasses and take another drag.
After that I turn on a podcast and a soft, pleasant voice mutters: „Nothing isr eal. The world is just a farce. You are part of a bigger plan. The earth is alive, and it’s breathing and so are you. Have you hugged a tree today? – startled I jolt out of my tranc-y state when I realized I haven’t. I really need to do some yoga now to calm down and inhale. Exhale. Inhale. I couch because I forgot I was smoking a joint and now I burnt a hole in my brand new yoga pants made out of 100% elasthane. Then I pass out on the wooden floor – no carpet, of course, because carpets only attract dust – this day has been really exhausting so far I think before losing consciousness.

I wake up to the faint sound of someone knocking on my door. „Yes?“ I say, weakly. My flat mate enters (the one that didn’t run away earlier this morning). He says: „Man – this trip to California really has changed you.“
Then he shakes his head, grabs my feet and drags my surrendering body out of my room and throws me into the washing machine. He patiently stands in front of it for a while and watches me spinning with a mesmerized glare, then he leaves me alone to my destiny.
1.5 hours later I crawl out of the torturing device soaking wet and vomit on the floor. I examine how my green gooey outburst dissolves in the puddle of water I am currently producing Thank God we have a tiled floor. I shake myself dry like a dog, put on my shoes and leave the house. A tree has fallen down and is now blocking the entrance, so I have to climb over it in order to gain access to the street and be a complete and functioning member of traffic. On my way across the obstacle I cut off a branch with a pair of kindergarden scissors I always carry in my pocket for precisely this reason and tuck it behind my ear. I gently stroke it and smile, then I leap off to the metro because that’s the most convenient way of moving from A to B I had figured out, frogs weren’t doing that just for fun.

The train arrives and I have to fight my way through massvie crowds of people, but eventually I get in after losing the little finger of my left hand and trading a cup of coffee for an oboe. Then I get off the next stop and, again, have to fight – luckily I kept my lovely little branch.
Without coffee though I couldn’t live, I envisioned my entire body collapsing to the ground within seconds, so I feverishly leap toward the next coffee store of which luckily there are plenty. After I refueled my internal engine with enough of hot brown bitter liquid, I begin playing the newly acquired instrument on the street, right in front of the public library. After 10 minutes, a raging, crying mob runs out of the building and throws books at me, which hurt so I jump away as quickly as I can.
Dusk begins to settle.
While I am busy trying to catch my breath at a street corner next to a barber shop, a homeless person walks by and asks for change, so I hand him the pot plant I had picked up when I was trying to escape from the raving crowd that was chasing me, only because I wanted to brighten up their probably dull and miserable day by learning how to play the oboe. The homelessman frowns and leaves without saying a word.
As soon as I got my respiratory system back to working normally, I vault into a shopping cart and let the induced momentum carry me home.

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