Get out of your head dear one: let go, let it all go.
I slept on my glasses last night, and much like their shape (bent) so too is my mind. All the planning I have going on for the near-ish future has me bogged down, where I’d much rather be buoyant. Like those helicopters flying about my neighbourhood every day since Tuesday (tragic).
And so, like the robe-clad child (alluding to a Buddhist monk?) in the following scene from 1999’s The Matrix, I try and remind myself, that, indeed, there is no spoon.
There is no self.