IN: Keeping an ins and outs list. It’s more of a set of commandments really, like a religion. I took the RIPTA to the Salvation Army in spring of 2025 so I could buy a Bible. They only had the New Testament, but God is pretty mean in the Old Testament, so I figured I could make do. I had an unshakeable feeling that I was about to drop dead, and I had made a friend in class who invited me to the Coptic Church in Cranston for Palm Sunday. I sat alone while children ran in the aisles weaving palm fronds. Of course, this all happened because I’m terrible at taking pills on a set schedule, so I’d given up on Lexapro within two months and turned to God.
OUT: Taking pills. I had considered the pill as a birth control method, but I knew that my nature (see: lazy, dysfunctional) would render it useless. I opted for an IUD and invited an acquaintance to the insertion appointment, which fell on 9/11 of last year, as a bonding opportunity. I asked the doctor if I had dealt with the pain well and she refused to compare me to others. I bled for four months straight.
IN: Comparing yourself to others, contemptuously. This is especially important in humanities seminars when a sophomore talks for five minutes to answer the question, “Well, what even counts as a language?” Look around the room and think to yourself, “I know that what we’re doing doesn’t really matter. No one on the sidewalk is going to be saved by post-structuralism.” You can add in some short-lived sprinkles of motivation to become an electrician or a cook. Or just go to the mailroom and watch someone stare at their phone while their name is called again and again. Dream about kicking them. You are better.
OUT: Nightmares. The day of my IUD insertion, I dreamt that I was coughing up bugs. Other nightmares I’ve had recently include: coughing up sawdust, t-Butyl-shaped wires growing out of my skin the night before a chemistry exam, and the guy I’m seeing being really mean to me. In order to live a completely satisfying life, you must reject your subconscious’s efforts at self-destruction. Have a lucid dream about goats and kittens that are friends.
IN: Prophetic hallucinations. This can also come in the form of a dream. I caught the flu as a freshman and hallucinated that the five pillars of Islam had become real pillars and were towering over me when I woke up sweating at two in the morning. Before that moment, I did not know that there were five pillars of Islam. I started panicking because I (not Muslim) was super haram. When I went back to bed, I dreamt that Allah healed me, and I woke up feeling totally fine. I didn’t eat pork for a year.
OUT: Predictable hallucinations. Examples: daydreaming about your boyfriend (the one who doesn’t like you that much) breaking up with you, your very old dog dying, or literally anyone being mad at you. These things will happen. Don’t think about them until they happen. Focus on your prophecies.
IN: Trusting your instincts, in the form of talking before you think. I recently attended a dinner party in which a statistically significant proportion of sentences I said were met with attendees side-eyeing each other. But then I remembered my commandment: You can always adapt to your environment, but what’s the point of trying to adapt to it before anything happens? Just say whatever.
OUT: Saying, “But who am I to judge?” Think about it. Are you having “hallucinations” or are they visions? You are special. You are the smartest girl in the mailroom. The best. You can judge anything you want. Even things that aren’t important; for example, is plastic surgery anti-feminist?
IN: Okay, bring it back, bring it back. Beauty sleep. In an ideal world, your roommate’s boyfriend will buy her a towel warmer as a gift and you will get to use it and feel luxurious and beautiful. You can slather on way too much Trader Joe’s body butter and put on your softest pajama pants and a shirt you can’t wear in public. Put zucchini slices on your eyes if you don’t have cucumbers. Crawl into bed and stay there for an amount of time that your mother would be disappointed in but your roommates would not be worried about. To get the perfect woke-up-like-this look, I recommend 10–12 hours per night.
OUT: Disappointing your mother. She has done so much for you. Don’t you love her? Come on, did you even ship chocolates to her house for Valentine’s Day? Become the best version of yourself that your mother can imagine. Send her a photo of a beautiful meal to prove to her that you can cook. Water your plants before she visits to show that you, too, can take care of a life. Get another job. Then get another.
IN: Caring way too much about your job. It should deeply impact you when someone says you’re doing a good job. It should also deeply impact you when someone says you’re doing a bad job. Like, don’t stop now. Keep going. You can be really good at this. And then go home and sleep for 12 hours and feel refreshed enough to do better the next day. Fail your classes to spend more time at work. Ideally, you are a dishwasher.
OUT: Doing the dishes outside of a work context. I don’t mean that you should let them pile up, unless you have serious issues with your roommates, in which case, absolutely let them pile up. I mean switch to paper plates and plastic forks. Only eat takeout. Delete the Uber app so you aren’t tempted to order delivery because you have to at least walk to the restaurant to pick up the food, otherwise it’s just sad. By the way, you’re using way too much soap.
IN: Temperance. Take only what you need. There’s only so much hot water, so you can afford to shower every other day, maybe every three, maybe just once a week depending on the weather. Don’t let this impact the luxury of your 12-hour beauty sleep, of course, but your indulgence in the finer things can coexist with your restraint. You probably did too much ketamine last weekend. Cut down on that. The horses need it. And you should be using a flashlight to walk around your apartment and keeping the heat at 61 degrees—you don’t need all that light and heat. What a waste of energy.
OUT: Energy. Having it and using it for anything other than your job and your prophetic visions. You have chicken tikka masala in the fridge from last week. You’re supposed to eat that and go to sleep and dream of whatever is going to happen next year. Wake up on the couch and go to work without touching up yesterday’s mascara. Call it indie sleaze, and when people say indie sleaze isn’t in right now, say you’re being subversive.
IN: Getting anything other than chicken tikka masala from an Indian restaurant. Get something new, like lamb and potato vindaloo. Don’t get the garlic naan, get the roti. Don’t even read descriptions, you don’t need to know what you ordered. This can also feed into your contemptuous comparison of yourself to others. Aren’t you so much more worldly than everyone else? Aren’t you so much more willing to change up your life? Isn’t your palate more refined?
OUT: Food that’s good in a way that isn’t complex enough. You should have to convince yourself a little bit that whatever you’re eating is good. Everything should be a bit oversalted and smell a bit off. You can have moldy bread and nothing bad will happen to you, I promise. Serve Délice de Bourgogne on a charcuterie board and say, “I love how it has this rot to it.” Don’t eat jam. Eat gherkins out of the jar.
IN: Repurposing jars. By this, I mean having a jar and keeping it in the cabinet just in case you need a jar. Don’t even try to get the label off. Okay, fine, try to get the label off, but once it gets to the point where it’s just shredded and whatever is still there is really stuck on, stop trying. Someone will come over to your house and ask for a coffee. You will give it to them in this jar and say, “I can just get it back when I see you next,” and trust me when I say you will never see that jar again.
OUT: Replacing what’s lost. Don’t try to get back your jar or your pen or your money. What’s gone is gone. Accept that whoever you are now and whatever you have now is all that there is. Write down a list of everything you can remember that you want back: the shirt you lent to your brother’s ex-girlfriend, the respect of the professor whose class you failed, all that blood from the IUD, the affection of your boyfriend (seriously, girl, he just isn’t that into you anymore), your dog. Light a fire and burn the list. The fireplace in your apartment may not be functional, but that’s okay. You have a fire extinguisher around here somewhere. Don’t worry about it. Get your beauty sleep. There will be more to lose tomorrow.
