By: Emma Sikes
I’ve been feeling particularly crazy these days and it’s starting to show in my daily life. And it’s not just me; friends and family have reached out to confirm their shared uncertainties of the crumbling world around us. Let’s be honest the alien question has always been in the back of all of our minds. The alien question, you know what I’m getting at; do they exist? Are they green? Do they have an affinity for corn fields and zig zags? I’m now being forced to confront the possibility that those little green guys have their own planet, with their own Burger King franchise and their own bad, but weirdly catchy songs. #atBKhaveityourway #yourule. That blows my mind, into multiple pieces, and not in the fun “expanding my horizons” way, but in the “my whole world could be a speck floating on a flower held by an elephant” way. Weird shit has always been going on, it’s just that now there’s people who aren’t afraid to say that the shit is CRAZY and WEIRD. It’s been happening under our noses; aliens, super-spy technology (the balloon?) and like legislation dictating what we can and can’t do with our bodies?! We just didn’t care, I mean how could we? We’ve got other, (less important) scarier shit going on.
Currently my WAY less important, scarier shit is that my roommates and I have an unwanted guest roaming around our back porch. We've given him the name Paul, Paul the possum. He is evil and he hates us for no good reason. I’ve never had anything against rodents, I mean I’m not adopting them, but I don’t use derogatory terms like vermin or anything. They have the right to be there just as much as me, I guess, that is until you hiss at me, then we have beef. You’re thinking “Easy fix Emma, just get your shitty neighbors to stop putting out food for the (also evil) stray cats, that’s obviously what’s attracting Paul.” And to that I’d say, “Obviously! And I have, if passive aggressively complaining about the problem on my own porch loud enough for said neighbors to hear counts, I totally have.” So I’ve obviously done everything in MY power. The next logical step is to email the landlord and politely imply that you’d like Paul to be relocated to a farm up North (exterminated). Then the landlord comes back and informs you that in Georgia, possums are protected by state AND federal law, and it is illegal to harm them. Just our fucking luck; fat, greedy PAUL has the right to roam, hiss, and brush up against your ankles as you RUN into your home everyday. NO Paul, I DON’T like when you do that, it reminds me how touch deprived I am! #yikes. Now, you’re researching possums on the internet, hoping they help cure cancer with their weirdly fleshy tails, or that their hiss is like sound poison to possible robbers passing by your back door. Or maybe that their reproductive organs are literally doubled, and that means double the possum babies. I think that many penises in our apartment would make lesbian co-editor Sophie implode. #doublethepenis #gayrights. Hoping that this rodent can somehow serve YOU, you take a step back and realize how selfish that is. Or maybe it’s not, and you're totally valid to feel that way. Is this like a huge metaphor cementing that speck theory from earlier? I literally have NO idea; I’m just trying to figure out if this is normal. WHAT THE FUCK IS NORMAL?? I’ve done enough introspective thinking for this month, so just don’t tell me when they shoot that weird thing (that could be holding a family of aliens) out of the sky, I’d like to walk around ignorant for a little bit while I glue my brain back together. I’m going outside to touch grass, and if you’ve made it through this whole article, I’d recommend you do the same.
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