You shouldn't fix your bike while drinking.

In the roughest of chronological order I present: 

Reflections on the week of December 8th (told in the 2nd person. because some things are better approached at arm's length)

When push comes to shove, you and your roommate do have clairvoyant powers and will most likely accurately call the end of the world on a hunch. 

Congrats Bro and Dan. :)

If you pick a shirt off your floor and it isn't stained and you vaguely remember wearing it because someone you really dig commented how it matched your shoes and all you did with the rest of that day was take a 3 hour nap followed by 3 hours of dancing to golden age musicals and songs about the universe, as long as the pits don't smell you are definitely clear to wear it to work today. 

The best remedy for the crippling frustration at your weak finger's inability to remove your bike tire from the rim without puncturing the inner tube, is to drink while you do it. This is false. You will resort to tools and your inner tube will get snagged. Fortunately you have the chutzpah to wait anxiously outside Johnny Sprockets 2 minutes before they open so they can fix your bike immediately at half an hour before your ass needs to be on it pedaling to work. Worth it. 

"I think I got 1.5 hours of sleep last night because I was infuriated at humanity's inability to get its shit together, but I'm not even tired. I'm functioning just like a normal human. Which can mean only one thing, I am definitely superman."

Later that day you cry for a few minutes because you have the best friends in the world. This is where you recognize that the sleep:santiy correlation is suffering. 

If you stretch your middle split long enough, eventually all your muscles release and your torso just kinda creeks to the floor. Like Star Wars IV when the garbage compactor nearly crushes Luke Sywalker, Han Solo, Chewbacca, and Princess Leia. When this happens for the first time, sometimes you panic because this is totally new and supposedly your psoas holds all your repressed feelings from forever and now they have been unleashed and the best thing to do in that moment is to have an audible conversation with the fuzz living under your bed. Weirder things have happened. 

Sometimes you pour a heart in someone's latte. Sometimes that heart gets a little weird and looks like a butt. Sometimes that butt looks a little like an O'Keeffe. Sometimes you get a little too enthusiastic about this development and perfect the details. Despite months of occasional practice you still can't pour appropriate latte art, but Gloria Steinem would be proud.  

You've called the police so many times that you've developed an uncanny ability to remain deceptively calm while talking to the operator. So calm that the operator begins mirroring your tone by the end of the call and you think "maybe I should start crying now just to remind them that I need them to take this situation pretty seriously."  

Sometimes your "no shave November" bleeds into your December and at this point you're like "I have hair on my arms and stuff so why get all bent out of shape about my legs?" You've always known patriarchal beauty standards were bull shit anyway. Then you buzz half your head and realize that the hair on your legs is now longer than the hair on your head and you feel like you've really accomplished something here. 

You can go 5 days straight without washing your hair. Definitely no one noticed. You looked stunning every single day.

You gave in and now own a smart phone. You dislike it even more than anticipated and this pleases you. So you leave it at home for a few days as punishment for its existence. Also because you couldn't figure out how to turn the volume down.