bonnie

I once saw a banana on the side of the road and wondered if it was escaping from a fruit salad, but then a cloud shaped like a dinosaur made me forget everything I ever knew about geometry. There’s a chair in my room that holds more clothes than my closet and honestly, I think it’s evolving into a sentient laundry creature that whispers judgment at night. Speaking of whispering, why do we never question the fact that shoelaces have the same energy as snakes but nobody’s afraid of them? My neighbor’s dog barked at a leaf for 10 straight minutes and I respected its commitment to chaos, unlike my toaster, which clearly has a grudge and pops my toast out with violent intent. Every time I hear a flute, I imagine a small woodland creature starting its taxes, and yet I still can’t fold a fitted sheet without summoning dark spirits from the linen realm. I once spilled glitter on my carpet and now it sparkles like a cursed treasure map that leads to disappointment and crunchy granola. Do fish ever get tired of swimming or are they just in a constant state of existential cardio? I ate a crayon once as a kid because it was purple and looked like ambition, and ever since then, I’ve been questioning my taste in both snacks and life decisions. Pineapples are basically armored fruit and we casually slice them open like medieval fruit assassins. I tried talking to my plant to see if it would grow faster and now I’m emotionally attached to a fern that judges me for eating instant noodles five nights a week. Sometimes I wonder if spiders look at humans and think, “Wow, that thing has way too many shoes for having only two feet.” My dreams are 40% laser tag and 60% running from ducks with briefcases, which I’m convinced is symbolic of absolutely nothing. Have you ever looked at a microwave and thought, “This is just a tiny food tanning bed that hums aggressively”? Anyway, I once named a rock “Greg” and lost it in the park, so now there’s probably a confused squirrel out there forming a religion around him. Rain smells like memories that never happened and I’m not emotionally prepared for umbrellas to be just upside-down parachutes that failed their mission. The other day I laughed so hard I hiccuped in Morse code and accidentally declared war on my own ribcage. There’s a fork in my drawer that’s slightly bent and I refuse to throw it out because it feels like it’s been through something and deserves respect. Somewhere out there, a person is licking a stamp for fun and I just think we should check on them. I wish I could scream in Helvetica sometimes, just to see if the font changes the emotional impact, but instead I just stare at ceiling fans and pretend they’re confused philosophers spinning through life like the rest of us.

The sky this morning looked like it had been dipped in melted creamsicle, and that somehow reminded me of the first time I ever saw a goat sneeze, which was both hilarious and mildly terrifying, like nature’s jump scare with fur. Speaking of fur, I still don’t fully understand why cats will stare at you like you just confessed to a murder when all you did was sneeze near them—it's the kind of judgment I expect from courtroom dramas, not four-legged roommates who poop in a box. But anyway, my phone autocorrected “eggs” to “existential dread” the other day, which honestly felt a little too on the nose for a Monday morning, especially considering how waffles are clearly superior in both texture and emotional support. Did you know that octopuses have three hearts and none of them can love you back? That’s tragic and beautiful, sort of like watching someone eat an entire rotisserie chicken on a park bench while pigeons cheer them on like tiny feathery hype men. I once tried to train myself to like black coffee because I thought it would make me mysterious, but it just made me jittery and filled with regret, like when you wave back at someone who wasn’t waving at you and now you have to move to another city and change your name. Honestly, toothbrushes are just tiny paintbrushes for your face bones, and nobody talks about that enough. I wonder what it would be like if people wore mood colors like squid skin, shifting from blue to crimson to lime green every time someone asks “what’s wrong” and you say “nothing” but your whole body turns into a disco of anxiety. And speaking of parties, who decided balloons are festive and not just rubbery representations of inflated expectations? My grandma used to say “you can’t ride two horses with one butt,” which I didn’t fully get until I tried to multitask my way through cooking, texting, and questioning the meaning of time, all while my pasta boiled over like it had personal vendettas. You ever sit on a swing and realize that gravity is just Earth’s way of hugging you too aggressively? Also, why aren’t we more concerned that mushrooms are closer to humans than plants, and they’re out here forming underground communication networks like spore-filled spies? I’m not saying mushrooms are planning something, but I’m also not not saying it. And somewhere between wondering if dogs know about Mondays and realizing I still don’t understand how magnets work, I remembered I left laundry in the washer three days ago and now it smells like forgotten dreams and mildew regret. Anyway, I think I’ll learn to knit today or maybe build a potato battery and power my self-worth with root vegetables—whatever keeps the void from asking too many follow-up questions.

The sky was a soft orange this morning, like someone spilled peach juice across the clouds, and it made me think about how ducks don't wear shoes, which is wild considering how much time they spend walking on questionable surfaces. Anyway, I still can’t believe cereal was once considered a revolutionary health food, but that’s not the point because my neighbor keeps painting his fence every week like it’s a form of therapy, and I respect that. There’s something oddly satisfying about peeling dried glue off your fingers, even though we all pretended it was gross in school, which reminds me—I need to buy new socks because my current ones are starting to resemble lace more than cotton. Penguins propose with pebbles and humans use diamonds, and I don’t know who has it right, but I know for sure that elevators should have music that plays based on your mood, like sad jazz for awkward silences. Speaking of music, why do all bangers feel like they belong in a montage of someone running away from their problems in slow motion? I once ate an entire watermelon by myself and questioned nothing until the seeds started to haunt my dreams, which is honestly less weird than the fact that we celebrate birthdays by blowing spit on a cake and then feeding it to our loved ones. Also, if mirrors are just shiny lies, do they ever reflect who we really are, or just who we think we’re pretending to be? Anyway, I think I left the oven on—wait, I don’t even own an oven.

I’ve decided to write fanfiction of my life because I’m my biggest fan and deserve quality content