The bag of Fritos was to the left of my head. To the right, a Cup o’ Noodles perched precariously on a flimsy New Yorker I had once considered reading. On my New Yorker Plate there were some dehydrated peas that had fallen out of the Cup o’ Noodles before I could plump them up with boiling hot water. I didn’t have a fork but I did have half of a chopstick, so I used that to bring the yellow noodle strands to my mouth, and then I slurped the hot broth and it burned my tongue. I crumpled some Fritos into the cup, popped a whole Frito into my mouth—it was gritty, salty—then crumpled more into the cup. I found the soggy orange flecks of chip strangely appetizing. They added nice savory flavor that lingered on my tongue, which I sucked for a while. I thought about buying heels online and browsed the internet aimlessly.
I was sprawled out on my bed, busying myself with Fritos and the noodles, when my friend knocked on my door. She had seen me like this before.
“Come in,” I screamed. I turned my head around and pushed my elbow down into the mattress to prop myself up. This disrupted the balance of the Cup o’ Noodles, which spilled on my forearm and the mattress and scalded us both.
“You’re kidding me, “ she said.
My arm had noodles on it, and I licked them off, gently.
“No. No I am not.”
1) I physically cannot remember the last time I showered.
2) Everyone is miserable.
3) I stress eat a bag of Skittles and only realize it when, hours later, I notice the empty king sized bag and find one in my shirt.
4) I’m down to watching only four hours of online television.
5) I stop caring that there’s a mouse starting a life in my room and probably pooping on my things.
I found two mistakes in yesterday’s New York Times. This is a first for me!