For once I did things things properly. I followed the rules and walked a straight line. It felt good. Like I was in God’s graces.
And I realized that you can be addicted to doing things the wrong way.
They never tell you that. You can be addicted to crack, cigarettes, sex, whatever.
But what about just doing things the way they’re supposed to be done?
I’ve spent so long disregarding the rules. All of them. Seatbelt. Make your bed when you wake up. Don’t throw your dirty clothes on the ground. Basic shit. Little shit. But it can become a way of being. Eventually up is down and down is up.
It’s not very punk rock but it feels good to do shit proper sometimes.
the worst thing about speaking two languages is trying to use an expression from one language that fits perfectly into your conversation but the other person won’t get it
Like “enchilado” or “me enchilé.”
There’s really no English expression for the state of being fucked up by spiciness. All you can really say is “this is hot” or “my mouth is burning.”