But Why Is The Milk Gone?

But Why Is The Milk Gone?

It’s hot, unbearably so.

The air conditioning stopped working in the middle of the night so all I had to comfort me was an old ice pack wrapped up in a tank top, which I placed right on my forehead. …Then my forehead got too cold. I woke up with the ice pack on my back, along with a very much unwanted puddle of water.

I was not pleased.

This morning, all I wanted was Cheerios with milk. I haven’t had cereal in months since I’m on a eat-what-the-cows-eat diet. I was delusional. I could practically see the condensation dripping down the cool milk carton, hear the splash of the milk hitting the bottom of the bowl. I rushed downstairs and opened the fridge, already reaching down to get that familiar red carton, but it was nowhere to be found. There was no milk.

Flames crept up my legs.

The curtains caught on fire.

My semi-miserable existence had finally come to an end.

It’s a silly thing, getting upset over milk. I just really wanted it and expected it to be there… I moped to my mom about it but she wasn’t having any of it. And for the 37482374982739498893495734th time in my life, I wished I was a kid again.

If I’m being perfectly honest, being a kid wasn’t a walk in the park either. I remember the petty fights I got into with my playmates over crayons, key chains, and beanie babies. I remember wishing I was older and my unfaltering belief that I would become an amazing adult with an amazing life. As you can tell, I’ve been delusional for a while.

STILL. Back then, I didn’t have to worry about food. Someone always made sure I had something to eat. I didn’t have to worry about bills or banks or identity theft or being murdered by a psychotic roommate. I miss that… And now that I’m closer to 30 than 20, my worries have continued to morph. Now, I’m stressing over finding a normal guy who I can make a life with, who won’t turn out to be the human equivalent of a paralyzed sloth, and who I won’t want to defenestrate three months into our marriage. I’m also worried about my reproductive health. …How many viable eggs do I have left anyway? I sure hope everything’s working down there…

I’ve spent most of my life in school, but…what if I don’t get to enjoy the fruits of my labor? I am somewhat religious; I believe that we all have predetermined expiration dates. What if mine is coming up? People say “what will be, will be.” I too am guilty of spewing that utterly USELESS line. Of course, what will be, will be. The grass that will be green, will be green. WHAT.

Another line that I often hear is “carpe diem” or “seize the day”. How am I supposed to seize the day? Does that mean I have to go out of my comfort zone? What if in the process of skydiving, something that I find to be thrilling yet scary, I die? Death via carpe diem. Pass.

I suppose there’s a third alternative, which is actually something that I’m already doing. Instead of leaving it to the will of the gods and going with the flow and instead of making every single day an adventure a la carpe diem, I will just continue trying to figure out how to live a good life. My shoulders will become hunched, my hair will turn grey, my neurons will explode…but hey, maybe one day, I’ll figure it out.

See? Still delusional.


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