Weekend Missions

You’re sitting in a parking lot during a storm, chai getting cold, and someone asks what you’re doing this weekend. You don’t know, so you start making a list. Ten ridiculous things. Not because you’ll actually do them. Just to have a plan.

One: Chase a metric that doesn’t matter. Facebook followers back then. Bluesky followers now. The number doesn’t matter. The emptiness is always the same.

Two: Go on a date with someone weird. Order the saddest meal—salad, water. Sit across from them and feel the silence.

Three: Paranoia as a project. The original was joking about viruses. Do something preventative that makes no sense. Wrap a condom around a vegetable. Protection against nothing.

Four: Watch something you hated again. Avril Lavigne, pop-punk era. Maybe you’ll like it now. Probably not. Doesn’t matter.

Five: Borrow someone else’s attitude for the weekend. Han Solo doesn’t care if you’re watching. Try that.

Six: Do something sexually weird with someone you trust. Not as a punishment or a game. Just because you can be strange with certain people in ways you can’t with anyone else.

Seven: Destroy your own future before anyone gets the chance. That application you sweated over—don’t send it. Throw it away. You’ll never feel ready anyway.

Eight: Move your body pointlessly. Jump on a trampoline. On your balcony if you’re brave. You’re not trying to be healthy. You’re just moving because it feels good.

Nine: Make the call you’ve been avoiding. Dentist. Whoever. Commit to a time and actually show up.

Ten: Help someone with something that won’t actually help. Donate. Show up. Do the effort even though the outcome doesn’t matter.

That’s the list. None of it changes anything. The point was the parking lot, the storm, making a plan out of nothing. That was the whole thing.