Napoleon Dynamite (2004).

It’s 3am and I can’t sleep. I’m not even thinking about sleeping, I’m thinking about what I had for breakfast this morning? A bowl of cereal and a kiwi. Great, so that’s why I can’t sleep. One meal a day was my usual but it often led to midnight cravings that kept me up at night despite my endeavors to morph into a potato for a recommended 8 hours. And no, I’m not an in-shape, Vogue model with an obscure diet routine. I’m an off-shape, 20 something year old adult male who makes very poor life decisions — like eating leftover fried rice at 4am.

It’s 4am and I’m eating leftover fried rice from the fridge. Outside is blue which means the Sun has already woken up to shame my bad habits. Asshole. Today is Friday which is supposed to be movie night. I was thinking about watching ‘La Vert Rayon’ by Eric Rohmer which is a French drama about…..Well, it’s a French drama. It isn’t about anything. People smoke, love is a tragedy and outside Paris lies an adventure. Anyways, though my dedication to watching old movies with minimal plot lines to appear more culturally astute might be impressive to some, I rarely find time to commit to such ambitious pretense. I find myself instead wandering off to 15 minute episodes of YouTubers reviewing overly dramatic reality tv shows that somehow make me feel better about my own abysmal attempts to find love. Notwithstanding, I still feel slightly abashed at the fact that I have the attention span of a fucking 12 year old. 

I blame poverty. Although it’s a habitual belief that us ‘common folk’ are more in touch with reality and have a greater sense of morale — I have this theory that Hollywood isn’t actually the Cirque du Soleil of queer upperclass decorum or the shared ambrosia amongst the Greek gods of Calabasas but rather the true form of human nature after being set free from the chains of financial restraint. The rest of us are merely plugs in a machine. Some of us haven’t even traveled outside our home state, yet we think we know so much about everything simply because we consume all this digital information — like a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos. The Internet is really just the junkfood of modern day technology. Quick, cheap, easy and accessible. Which leads to….Wait, what was my point again? Oh yeah, my low attention span.

I blame depression. Not the Tumblr-esc, relatable teen, lowercase, i want to die ~ d e p r e s s i o n ~ Actual depression. You know, the kind that makes a doctor say “take your drugs kid.” I don’t know if I should blame my mental health on everything. Like my lack of appetite, my failure to workout or drink enough water. My un-alive motivation. The reason I don’t go outside unless it’s absolutely necessary. My failure to maintain a lasting relationship or be ever present in my semi-active relationships with family and friends — even when it comes to Important, once in a lifetime events, like, I dunno, a wedding.

I missed my best friend’s wedding. Yah, I know, pretty bad right? People often look back at life and claim to have no regrets. I have….about 58. I don’t know, maybe it’s just my lack of self awareness or my current health situation. Maybe I just have to be at a better place in life before my past blunders actually start to mean something. Maybe I’m too young to feel like my life is one giant wormhole of misery and regret. I still got a mid-life crisis to look forward to. I need to look past the blight. “The only difference between a comedy and a tragedy is how you react to the pain.” I don’t know if that’s an actual quote so I might just be talking out of my ass.

It’s now 4:32 am. I just ate another kiwi. I’m craving a pretzel for some strange, unbeknownst reason. Life Sucks. Anyways, I’m ready to call it a night. I throw my kiwi skins into the trash which is clearly too full so I take the responsibility of tying the liner and pulling it out of it’s plastic container (This house would crumble without me.) As I pull out the bio-degradable bag from the waste pocket, I feel a sudden shift of weight. Next came the splat!

Lying there on the black marble floor was four kiwi skins along with a compilement of waste that could fill a highschool locker. Maybe my life was a comedy — a coming of age drama. Starring me, a fucking loser.