there are nights where i just can’t stomach how terrible i feel. i feel stuck in a hole i can barely crawl out of. like the dude who was standing on the sidewalk on the exact spot (unbeknownst to him) for a sinkhole to appear to drag him straight down to my definition of a Living Hell – a New York City rat den. imagine 30 minutes of that. My actual nightmare come to life. again – i would simply rather perish than have to live through that. No life insurance plan would account for rat-related PTSD, methinks.
Not to say i’m living in that circle of hell. But it sure as hell feels like (what i imagine) to be that moment where you realize you’re lying in a rat den. The floor beneath you has literally caved in and now you’re lying in literally the worst 10sqm of new york city. If i could describe 2020, up til around august it would have been the standing on the sidewalk (a real shitty one in my head). August to October — probably the carpet pull, the moment the ground caved. Q4 is the real fucking deal. Reality has dawned and there’s no escaping. I’ve accepted I’m in the rat den. Practically swimming in urban rat, clenching my body like spongebob in a desert.
Like a true fucking millennial i’m masking my sheer burnout and existential dread with the worst headline i’ve ever seen this year. But honestly – how the fuck do I get out of the rat den. It feels like I’m one with the vermin at this moment.
Huh. Funnily enough I didnt intend for this to be a stream of consciousness. I’m realizing how absurd this is as I type. The power of metaphor, huh… This bit back immediately.
It seems as if the universe is really sending me signals to just. Fucking. Do it. Do something. Be the brave firefighter who descends into Actual Hell to pick yourself up. Save yourself bitch. No rat solidarity here.
We’re getting out of this rat den no matter what.
the floating world 