Genius Hours

      I regret all of my life choices thus far, beginning at the idea of my birth. From my refusal to eat cherry tomatoes to falling in love with my best friend, I feel like I’m constantly being recorded for Pranked. It’s now 2:37 a.m and I can’t add two and three. Being exhausted is probably close enough to what crack feels like, but alas, I have not tried crack. I joke, but my brain is a broken bicycle that wobbles along the side of the highway, scratching against the dirty asphalt and making me wonder why I didn’t buy a damn car instead. Bees bzz bzz in my bones. “Wake up! Wake up!” I am awake, but not alive.  An idea! Think: “I could run naked through the streets.” “But also. I can’t.” My brain doesn’t have legs.

      This is probably what Jesus felt as he rose from his grave. Does Jesus do crack? Is that sacrilegious? Two minus three is five. I’m going to be a mathematician.

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