I told myself I would stop dating single dads with outstanding warrants for back-owed child support. I told myself I would stop sipping hummingbird feed from a crystal flute. I told myself that everyone forgot about what you did at the last high school reunion. I realized that I was pushing away the very things that made me unique. Defending deadbeat dads and traumatizing communities.

I woke up to my own screaming. The television was on. Devil Wears Prada. I kicked a hole in the screen with my bare foot. I felt nothing, bleeding on the newspaper strewn across the linoleum. Then I remembered. All of it.

Someone was calling me. I had my flip phone. I was in the middle of completing a four point turn at the intersection of a steakhouse and Best Buy. “Hahaha!” I thought to myself. “My heart is pounding so fast!” I didn’t recognize the number.

I was torturing myself all day, thinking about mines. Thinking about being forced to use a dongle. Best Buy smelled like alcohol wipes and pretzels. I tripped over a child thinking it was a pile of garbage. Maybe I’m mixing memories up here. I was going to ask someone about a printer. Then an almond fell out of my shirt pocket.

My hands were full of stuff. I had to put down all the stuff to pick up the almond and put it in my pocket. The almond kept falling out and an older woman laughed at me. I think it was an employee from Super Shoes, which hurt my feelings a lot because I love shoes. Now I can’t eat almonds or wear shoes.

Then I was talking to a cop. He asked me about Alien Ware. I told him that Alien Ware is engineered to wreak havoc. He asked to add me on Facebook. I said "I’m over it. I’ll lay an egg, I’ve been doing that for a while. When I lay an egg I cry, because it’s scary laying an egg. I don’t know what’s in the egg and that makes me cry harder."

The last thing I can remember is spilling two frappes and a box of polaroids down an escalator, swiping right on Tinder, and passing out. The last thing I searched for on Google was “easy paleo recipes”.

So I shoplifted a drone. I tore open the front passenger door of someone’s car. There were people inside and they didn’t like what I was doing. Joe Rogan was playing on the radio, telling me that “women respond viscerally in their vagina area to men with deviated septums" and that "soy will increase the visibility of nasolabial folds".

"God, can't I just do something for myself instead of pleasing some man?" I asked the screaming passengers in the car I broke into. Unfortunately for them, I've been pepper sprayed so much that I'm immune to it.

Somebody bit my arm. My fingers were in a woman's mouth. My foot was on a man. A small dog and a newborn baby were tied up in my fringed knit poncho; I had been dragging them along the entire time. I ditched the poncho and leapt over the crowd.

I just stabbed him. I didn't mean to. I did not know how to de-escalate the situation.