Ten Little Missions

Saturday and nobody’s coming over, you’re somewhere you didn’t want to be, stuck with thoughts that don’t lead anywhere. So you make a list. Not the kind that’s supposed to change your life—just dumb weekend shit, ten things that don’t matter but at least they’re something to do.

Go to hell. No really, pick somewhere and just drive there. Hide stupid stickers around the city and see if anyone gives a shit. Drink enough melon soda to wish you’d never been born. Seduce your janitor or your landlord or whoever—candlelight, wine, play it like you mean it. He’ll remember you forever. Kiss someone unexpected on the street and then eat ice cream with them like that’s what normal people do.

Sell your computer to someone who thinks they need it and try living poor for a month. Drive to Uganda or somewhere equally stupid and just stay there for a while. Listen to some band nobody’s heard of loud while eating a blood orange, just to feel like you’re in a movie. Write an angry letter to a magazine and tell them they used to be better, that they’ve lost it. Call your health insurance and ask them stupid shit—where do babies come from, when’s my sister old enough to clean the bathroom, whatever.

Steal your sister’s nasal spray, use it the wrong way, put it back, and don’t tell her anything. Just wait for her to figure out something’s wrong. Watch the confusion spread across her face.

That was the whole thing. None of it meant anything, obviously. But for two days it felt like you were the one making the rules. Like you weren’t trapped—you were choosing.