dream me the world

[pushing my glasses up with an air of unwarranted superiority and gesturing toward a painting without a minotaur] the Minotaur is implied.

David Lynch

puttering around the house is an underrated form a self-care. make some tea or coffee. put on a podcast. sort the mail. tidy some pillows and fold some blankets. start the laundry. thaw some soup. just casually wander around aimlessly doing little things to make your space and life a little nicer. who cares if you get distracted or only do a little. you aren't being productive. you're puttering.

Imagine you work at some fucking roadside diner in buttfuck nowhere and you have to wait a table with three dudes who aren't from around here and the guy with the long hair immediately pulls out his laptop with what looks like cult shit in the web browser and asks for your worst salad option, and the guy in the trenchcoat sniffs the pepper shaker and declares the molecules to be very sharp and the guy with the greenest eyes you've ever seen calls you sweetheart and then proceeds to engage with intimate eye contact with trenchcoat to a degree that is downright indecent and then orders the heart attack special on your menu and every time you walk past their table they're talking about that gruesome murder that happened in town and the pretty guy is feeding the trenchcoat guy fries while the hair guy talks about desecrating corpses

notice how last night was composited using close ups and shallow depth of field to emphasise emotional intimacy