>140

There's a common misconception that just because I'm unapologetically lazy, my apartment must be some sort of squatter-ridden meth house with a single mattress laying on the floor and old Papa John's boxes duct taped over the windows to keep the light out. In reality, that couldn't be further from the truth. Yes, I have some crystal meth and I do like to keep my apartment dark (side note: I swear to God, I recently said "I like my apartment like I like my men: dark and frigid" to a guy in casual conversation and immediately felt uncomfortable because he was ambiguously Samoan looking and I wanted to be like, "WAIT, I'm not trying to pick you up. I just seriously like dim lighting and being chilly." I don't know. I wish I hadn't shared that anecdote with you but I'm too lazy to delete it. This is how rumors get started.), but besides that, my apartment is pretty much always clean and hyper-organized. And yet, if I had a nickel for every time someone came into my apartment and remarked, "Wow! It's actually really clean in here," I'd have enough money to buy slightly more crystal meth. I don't understand how you couldn't think that's an insulting thing to say. It's like a watered-down version of saying, "Wow! Given what a fucking shitshow your entire life is, I expected every surface of your apartment to be covered in fecal matter. Way to Windex!"

Anyway, I was walking around my apartment earlier this evening, as you do, when I noticed this disaster:

I mean...it could not be any more obvious that there's a book missing from that shelf if a cricket with a top hat was standing there, twirling his cane in one hand and alternating between frantically pointing to the gap and awkwardly pulling on his little cricket collar with the other. There are just so many unanswered questions: where did that book go? What book was it? Who took it? Will I ever see it again? Are any other books missing? Is this something I can bounce back from? Is it a sign of a bigger problem if it's not? Would my life be better if I actually had a little cricket sidekick who did vaudeville numbers every time something goes slightly awry? Answers: No clue, not sure, AN ASSHOLE, I hope so, no, yes, and yes.

So that's why I'm up right at now 1:53 in the morning. Being anxious about a missing book and fantasizing about an anthropomorphic cricket. It's a lot of look.