My Head Aches & I Hate Everyone and Everything

Reading Nietzsche Naked Redux

There’s something almost therapeutic waking up tangled in your bedsheets, naked, with a semi between your legs; your head’s a mess, groggy from a night of doom scrolling, and the first thought that pops in your all-too-sleepy brain as you reach your phone is: Am I really about to turn 40?

That’s me. In bed. Naked and tangled in bedsheets. There isn’t a ceiling fan in my bedroom, but if there was one (and if I was one of my many characters I wrote about in my 20s) I would be focusing on that fixture in this narration. I would describe how dusty it appeared, at least a decade’s worth of fuzz lining the blades. How it slowly turned in the room, though it was off, as an indicator of a draft that snuck through the open window screen, despite it being a hot and humid day in South Texas. 

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