Every morning feels like I’ve just come down from doing a bunch of cocaine—anxiety chewing up my insides, calculating how I’ll make it through work, wishing I could sleep.
Say you went exploring in a cave but got lost on your way out—you’re well and truly fucked and you’re gonna die—do you go scratching and screaming or do you just lie down and let exhaustion take you into the big sleep? I’d go for the latter but I know I’d last about three seconds before going for the former.
Then again, a cave might be the ultimate tiny home if it doesn’t go too far back, doesn’t have a bear already living there. Set up some simple Ikea stuff for comfort and standby firewood, hunt deer or pick up groceries from the Dollar General, a bluetooth speaker to really rock that cave tiny home.
Out here in the desert, a cave is a good place to go if you want to mummify, let the arid air desiccate your corpse into a shriveled version of yourself. TBH, I don’t see the advantage of being a mummy, other than to be discovered and then shipped off to be displayed at a carnival.
I’ve seen pictures of mummies and pictures of (supposedly) ghosts, but never both in the same frame. Apparently, you can only be a mummy or a ghost but not both. Personally, I’d rather be a ghost, hang around and fuck with people.
If I find a cave to mummify in out here in the desert, those social security checks will roll in until somebody finds my withered corpse and by then, my time of death will be indeterminate—could have been last month, could have been last month and a decade. All those accumulated social security payments can buy me a nice headstone to sit outside the cave I once called home. “Used to be a mummy up in here,” or something like that, in case people get too curious about where I lived.
|Maybe to understand how I survived the brutal winters?|
- There must be a toilet.
- The toilet must be fitted with a bidet.
- Someone to come in and clean the toilet/bidet every afternoon, preferably while I'm taking my nap.