The time is 3 am. I’m lying in bed, on top of my comforter, but under my throw blanket. Sleeping this way allows me to never make my bed but also never feel real comfort. The only people awake other than myself are either cat fishing on Tinder, or texting the blonde in their Bio 101 lab group, “yoooooo”. My eyes are stinging from the resplendent ivory haze of my iPhone. I’m 167 weeks deep on a mormon girl’s instagram feed.
I’m stealing her captions.
Let’s rewind a little. So I’m lying there, right? Peering with blinding eyes. I have that deer in the headlight look, but how did it dawn? What occasion provoked this late nite technology bender?
Oh, that’s right. My overbearing love for colorful meaningless squares caused me to recall that Saint Patrick’s day is only six months away and I don’t have a caption for my future picture.
Without delay, I enter the vortex, my familiar territory of saved instagram photo’s displayed through ‘collections’. (if you don’t know what that is then PSA, you can save instaposts and categorize them, duh, it’s not new.)
My collection titled, “people with good captions”, reads first in succession. I created this because I unquestionably have no life. Saved here are prior caption holders handles I’ve hoarded and heaped together, precisely for this moment. I begin to sift. I comb through pages of emoji/s. I scrutinize several no caption-er’s. Hours I’ll never get back have flown by. Some posts I stumbled past are practically all the evidence we need to remove Instagram from the app store. But alas.
Finally. There it is.
Sweet jesus, I think I’ve found it.
“Servin’ it up Gary’s way, bleh”.
The caption I’m going to use the next time I spend an ungodly amount of money on avocado toast. That is what I was looking for, right?
I nod with content, finally feeling joy again.
This prized possession, this award winning caption finds a temporary home in my notes app, where it will reside for several months to come before I forget what it’s purpose was and delete it.
that’s the whole post.