First of all, I might have a concussion. So if this post makes absolutely no sense at all, feel free to categorize it into “Posts Written While Nic was in a Delirious State,” and move on with your life.
Or actually, don’t do that. Because I feel like, on some level, that category could apply to everything I’ve ever written, and I’d rather not go down that road.
I’m just sick of living in a hazardous, potentially fatal environment.
Have I made it obvious yet that my apartment is trying to kill me?
It’s filled with these seemingly beautiful white cabinets throughout the kitchen and bathroom — but although they may appear to be harmless, they actually have nefarious intentions because I keep violently hitting my poor little fragile head on them and it’s destroying my life.
Sometimes I’m tempted to ask other people in my building if they have the same problem, but then I realize that they probably don’t leave their cabinets wide open, clumsily drop random items (pencils, blood pressure medication, toasters, etc.) on the floor, perform fast-paced Beyoncé-at-the-Super-Bowl-esque squat moves to pick them up, dramatically bounce back up while shouting “Wabah!” (to absolutely no one), and accidentally get slammed in the head with a sharp cabinet edge in the process.
The first time this happened I was like, “Eh, whatever.” And then the next time it happened I was like, “Dammit! This can’t be good for my already-failing mental health.” And then it happened again yesterday and I was like, “OH MY GOD I HAVE NO BRAIN CELLS!”
This drives me to eat, because my mind obviously starts to go down this weird, like, I-just-cheated-death-and-suffered-head-trauma -and-so-now-I-think-I-deserve-to-eat-an-entire-cheesecake road.
So if my cabinets aren’t trying to kill me, they’re at least trying to make me fat and forever alone (which is something I really don’t need help with, so maybe the joke here is actually on the cabinets for wasting their efforts on something that’s already taken care of… Wow, that almost makes me feel better about this whole situation – like on some very sad, sad level, I win).
(Actually, I don’t win. Because I’m still the one in this scenario who might have a concussion. Ugh. To quote Kim Kardashian, “Why me?” Oh my god, I’m quoting Kim Kardashian. I definitely have a concussion. And I’m generally losing my mind. GREAT. Also… I don’t know why this entire post is turning into one big parenthetical. What is going on and how do I make it stop?!)
Okay, I’m out of the parentheses. I think. I can’t really tell because of the whole loss of brain cells and losing my mind thing.