Could you do me a favor?

Could you just prop me up against the “wall”?

Thanks.

I’m on this other shit called food. I don’t see it right now either but that’s because it’s inside my physical self. Sometimes I shove it in my mouth and get little bits of hamburger stuck between my teeth. It falls out hours after and I get nostalgic over how delicious it was. Sometimes I drink Jamba Juice too. That shit’s the bomb.

I do this other thing called sleep. That’s like when I’m so existed I can’t exist anymore, and it’s so cool because afterwards, when I exist again, I’m all like, “Wait, what’s real? This? Or the dream?” Dope.

Aww man, I can’t even see straight I’m so existed. But I can still see. That’s part of existence too. But, some people can’t even do that and they still exist too so there goes that theory. And some people can’t hear too. But do they exist? Fuck yeah they do. So do clouds.

I like to look around at all the other shit that exists: trees, birds, plants. All that shit breathes, eats, shits, and sleeps just like me. Just like the people that can’t see, and all those motherfuckers who can’t hear.

Sometimes I’m with another human and we’re telling each other that “we are one. That we are one being interconnected and our souls will live together forever.” Do you think that’s true, or is it just some shit people say to each other?

Do you think we can exist equally on the same plane?

Wait, you’re as existed as me? You are? Aww snap.

Do I have to hold you up too? The physical part of you. Not that dream shit I was talking about. No one even knows what that shit is. And I surely can’t touch it with my human hands.

Wait, it’s the brain? I know that. But what part? What part of your brain is the existence part and what part is the other?

Listen man, I’m way too existed so all of this shit is flying way over my head.

What? We’re going to die and not exist anymore? Then what? Then what happens? How could I not exist if I am this thing that breathes, eats, shits, and sleeps? Answer me that, huh?

What? No one knows?

Maybe it’s like sleep and you dream and you’re never sure what’s real and not anymore? Maybe you just live like that for eternity?

It’s been so long since my parents taught me the basic etiquette of the bathroom. Since then, so many new processes and necessities have come into being—pubic hair, acne, various odors—without any guidance whatsoever on how to appropriately deal with them.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t need any assistance, per se. I can get by. I know where everything is supposed to go, for the most part. Pee goes in the toilet, spit goes in the sink. It’s more so the intricacies of bathroom life that I, although may perform successfully, don’t know if I’m doing quite right.

For example, how do I wipe my butt? I know, it’s a bit awkward to talk about. But, who’s to know what the right way is? I’m sure I was taught the proper way when my brain was the size of an egg. But now, I feel like I might be doing it wrong. Wiping back and forth seems unsanitary. But I don’t want to waste excess paper. What’s more important: the comfort of my butt or the ecosystem? What is the ecosystem? I live in New York. I think it’s safe to say that this city has evolved past the classification of an ecosystem. There’s nothing eco about it.

I have three different types of toothpaste. One for whitening, one for health, one specifically for enamel. My teeth are sensitive, probably because I smoke. But that also makes them yellow and unhealthy and wears down the enamel. Thus, all three products seem important. I’m sure they all intersect, for the most part. Most likely, it’s just the same product in three different colored tubes. Toothpaste is toothpaste, right?

Choosing which toothpaste to use is an agonizing part of my daily routine. My teeth are looking pretty yellow this morning, I might think on a given occasion. I should probably use whitening. But maybe they’re yellow because the enamel wore down from grinding my teeth in my sleep? My gums feel swollen. Why don’t I have a toothpaste for that? Oh hell, I’m sure the health toothpaste will take care of everything. But maybe I should use a second coat of whitening, because brushing teeth is essentially like painting a bedroom wall.

When I step in the shower, lint accumulates around my feet. Is this normal? I think it’s mainly from remnants of my socks between my toes. But that just doesn’t seem natural. How come stuff like that isn’t in movies? You never see an actress taking a shower with little black clumps between her toes or falling from her butt cheeks, which is another area I suspect the lint may come from. Eventually it just flushes down the drain and I forget about it.

Still, I find myself blankly standing beneath the stream of water, wondering what to do next. I take cold showers, mainly. Is that weird? Hot showers feel like sweating profusely on a hot day, the perspiration constantly pouring down my scalp. I enjoy cold showers. But the longer I stand complacently beneath the downpour, the more I feel guilty about wasting water. Every second I’m standing there could fill up a jug of water for someone who is dying of thirst. How the hell am I supposed to enjoy myself knowing that? Plus, my fingers get all pruney after a while.

I go from top to bottom. Wash my hair, then my face and my body last. The logic is, that if I washed my face and then washed my hair, it would overrule the face wash because the shampoo runs down my face and body. Again, no one taught me this. I can’t remember when I started using a wash specifically for facial cleansing; but, when I did, at some point along the line, I must have decided that it was of the utmost importance for my face to remain unperverted by other products after its application.

That’s my real problem, the order of things. The can of hair gel says to apply to dry hair only. But if I wait too long, my hair poofs up, as if rubbed by a balloon. How the hell am I supposed to know the incredibly complicated, time-sensitive list of steps that lead to a successful bathroom experience? The bathroom is supposed to be a sanctuary. In fact, it’s the only place of refuge in my tiny, shared apartment, not to mention the whole city. Yet, rather than refuge, it seems that all I find is a new, convoluted set of responsibilities with even less guidance than the more public realms of my life. When all is said and done, I am able to step out the door in the morning and blend in with regular human beings. In the back of my mind, I just know that lint is accumulating in the crevices of my body, waiting for my morning shower.

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#OWS

“How about the East Village?”

“Even better.”

Maybe thinking about anything is my problem. Who said I have a problem? I guess I did. I just did.

I don’t want to create problems that don’t exist, but I do have this inner sense of impending doom that I can’t shake. Like, anything could crumble at any minute. You ever get that? How do you shake that? How do you make that monster disappear? Is it my childhood? Is it my ex-girlfriend? Is it the fact that I’m in my 30’s and don’t have a job? I just don’t know.

Sometimes when I have a sense of impending doom I eat a fruit salad, and I feel better. That makes me think I don’t have a sense of impending doom, but that I was just hungry. I’m open to that possibility. I’m open to anything really. I’ll take what I can get in troves in this world.

Other times I just want to walk down the street giving people high-fives. I want them to cheer me on as I walk down the street. I think they know where I’m going and that I’m on my way to doing great things. Of course I’m not doing them yet, but they know it’s all a part of my big plan. Or someone’s big plan for me. Who knows. If someone has a big plan for me, I wish they’d send me an email or an in-message from Linkedin or something like that. Like, maybe he could holla-athca- boy, know what I’m sayin’?

This morning I sat still for three minutes and listened to the whirr from my ceiling fan. Then I ate some Special K. Then I obsessed over what people thought of me for three hours. But that’s ok. It felt like a start.