The Myth of the Paper Bag and How to Mop the Floor Without a Mop

Fall asleep on the balcony, feeling drained, empty..regret, then remind yourself it was your choice, your own conscious mistakes..Send 3 am messages canceling your morning appointments, and roll around in sheets you must change in the morning..Wake up from a timeless slumber, regret again, and then laugh at your regret philosophy..Try to think about random stuff to get your mind off of your own stupidity, let your mind wander and realize how random your memories really are and how your unconscious chooses to amuse itself..it takes you back to your second or maybe third supermarket trip in DC, to those very first bits of disillusion when you figured out that the use of paper bags in the States is just a myth and that you should've known better than to trust carefully scripted movies..you remember how you had wished your best friends were there to laugh hysterically at you as you googled "how to mop the floor without a mop" because for the life of you, you couldn't figure out how to use those complicated tools to clean their floors, you couldn't wrap your head around the fact that even things as trivial as mops would change now and that you had to adapt, sooner or later, one way or another..your phone rings, and you snap out of the aimless thoughts' vagabondage you had just force subjected upon brains already heavy with worries and doubts crushing a tremendous layer of dreams,passions and an abundance of unrequited love..it's time for your dreadfully lonely Sunday rituals to kick in..Cook, clean, do the laundry, notice a print on the wall, wonder why the shower curtain just fell off, smoke a cigarette or two or twelve in the sun, decide the word "zapping " is worth being googled one more time, make sure you are thoroughly right scientifically, man up and admit your defeat socially..miss your friends, call them, top off their burdens and make sure you shower them with virtual kisses before hanging up..shed a tear or two..look in the mirror, pity yourself..try to get out of the afternoon housewarming party you are invited to, fail..change the towels, take a shower, grab some fruits, get dressed up, look in the mirror, pity him..apply some lipstick, climb on those heels, go to the grocery store, grab some chips, grab some beer, call a cab, wait too long, cancel your ride, apologize to your friends, go back home, grab a book, head out to the coffee shop, try to read, fail to focus..recall your reputation for the zero amount of fucks you tend to give, send a telepathic apology to your best friend, text again, then regret it, and then remember your regret philosophy, and then laugh at it..grab your phone again, start pounding on the screen furiously, hope your battery doesn't die on you, write an article in your blog using your phone for the first time, be conscious you are treating it like a text, remember who was the first person to separate his text sentences to you with two dots, try to overcome the fact that you can't re edit this post, that you probably invented words along the way, that those capital letters simply don't exist tonight..think of the handprint again, realize that in spite of the torment it's causing you, it got you writing again, and it got you to do it more freely, more spontaneously, and ever more regrettably..look at that bird staring at you, and blame yourself for never learning how to be moderate, especially about your attractions, which you now think of as fatal..think about deleting the whole article, then remember your reputation and click publish..