So, today I drank a bottle of water that smelled, mysteriously, like powdered milk. I suppose that’s an omen of sorts. Perhaps I can map out my entire existence by linking it to the complex arithmetic laid out by that smell. I suppose a lot.
Perhaps, it’s a sign. Perhaps it was a moment that was meant to teach me that although something may seem pure and nourishing, it’s more than likely something thats unhealthy and will end up making my Raisin Bran smell like tepid bath water. If you’ve ever been poor, you recognize that flavor.
I’m bad at that. I trick myself into finding signs in almost anything. The “stop” sign I drove past was slightly askew—life must’ve been telling me not to wait for anyone. I dropped an egg on the stove and it didn’t crack—the universe was most likely telling me that I’m stronger than people give me credit for. I dreamed I was eating my pillow—God was obviously telling me to do something out of the ordinary.
I’m really bad at picking out signs. I’m terrible at it, but that disgusting water must’ve had some meaning, right? What am I missing, here? Something I think is important, must actually be gross and harmful to me. At least that’s the only way I can make it make sense. But then again, I could have just made a mistake and drank some funky coworker cesspool water, and now I’m searching for justification for doing it. I do that a lot too—search for justification when I know I just simply fucked up and made a mistake. I’m bad.
Thank you for reading.