Smoke, Supplements, or Lana Del Rey—Whatever Gets You There

Some Mondays demand altitude. Not the metaphorical kind—actual elevation above whoever was here before you, whoever comes after. The kind where the ceiling drops a foot and ordinary thought becomes impossible. You can reach it through smoke finding its slow way through your lungs. Through whatever foul-tasting supplement some hollowed-out person warned you about at the wrong hour of the night but which opens something up anyway. Or through music. Paul Banks doing his particular cold-beautiful thing. Ellie Goulding somewhere between celestial and clinical. Lana Del Rey sounding like a dream someone else had about California. That combination will get you there—and the only side effect is that everything else sounds worse afterward.