Attics & Scotch

Sometimes, life sucks. Unless you’re Oprah, every single person in the world can relate to that sentence. And I lied, Oprah has bad days too. You can sense a bad day, just by the way your alarm goes off. Is it screaming in your ear? Or is it audible but still more or less just kindly reminding you that it’s time to get up? And when you do get up, are you motivated to be alive and living, or do you feel like God himself is punishing you for having to be awake at 5:15 in the morning? I myself have mixed emotions about the morning. Up until this point, I have always considered myself to be a morning person. It’s when I am most productive and in the best mood. Once the afternoon tends to hit, everything about me starts to go steadily downhill. Appearance included, I guess it depends on your opinion. It’s like clockwork. I am typically checked out of reality for about a full thirty minutes by the time it’s 3:00. In that half an hour, I need ample time to regenerate, and do all the things people need to do to “recharge.” What does that mean anyway? For some, that means sleeping in their car, doing weird stretches, drinking herbal tea, or watching videos of fat people falling off trampolines. I’m not one to judge, whatever helps you clear your mind for a little while is perfectly okay. Obviously, unless it means something super weird, like burning ants under a microscope or chasing small children with nets. In that case, you should probably use your thirty minutes of relaxation to go to the doctor. I would like to be able to say that I do something cool to unwind. Like playing the harp or reading ancient poetry. Or that I write haikus in the attic and drink scotch. Those things are all edgy and hip right? Other than the last sentence about the haikus. Writing poetry is acceptable, but preferably not in the attic. There has got to be a better room in the house, with more air circulation. But if that’s your thing than that’s cool. I don’t necessarily recommend going in the attic in general, you’re just asking for the plot of a horror movie to happen. You’ll start off just looking around and then you’ll trip on an old box or something and then you’ll feel obligated to open it and find creepy, old stained pictures from the 1700’s of a little girl and then before you know it, things start moving and you’re possessed. I apologize in advance for potentially spoiling the entire storyline of every single scary movie there is out there. But the point is, just don’t go in the attic. And it’s not like anyone ever goes up there because they’re “just looking.” People don’t crawl up in the tiniest, and most disgusting space in their house to just take a stroll. They have clearly got to be looking for something specific. I sense myself getting carried away at this point, so I will end my rant about attics and movies here.


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