The World Is Melting and So Am I

It’s Sunday. The apartment is clean. The AC is on. I’ve completed the full ritual of modern self-regulation: reset the space, refreshed my sheets, wiped down the surfaces like they were going to personally thank me. I even lit a candle with some absurd name like “Crisp Ambition” and waited for the peace to arrive.

It didn’t.

I’m still hot. Not in the cute, effortless summer girl way. In the internal furnace, skin-crawling, maybe-my-period-is-coming-but-maybe-it’s-just-doom kind of way. My body feels weird. My brain feels weirder. I want to sit still, but also peel myself out of my own skin and run.

I should be enjoying this day. It’s my one designated space between pretending to be productive and actually having to be productive. But I’m restless. Not just bored, but cosmically unsettled. I keep imagining myself on a beach. A private one. Somewhere far from people and problems and group chats I don’t feel like replying to. No one there except me and maybe a perfectly chilled drink that refills itself without asking.

At the same time, I want to fix everything. I want to save the world. I want people to stop being awful to each other. I want clean water, functioning governments, and for someone to finally outlaw corporate buzzwords. I want peace on earth and also no one texting me for forty-eight hours.

Monday is already looming. It’s the cold edge of reality waiting just off-screen. Tomorrow I go back to digital marketing. Back to client meetings and metrics. Back to pretending I care about the fourth revision of a headline I already know doesn’t matter. Also back to cat sitting and acting like I have my life together while narrating internal meltdowns like they’re voiceovers in a well-reviewed indie film.

I’ll hit my 10,000 steps because I have a compulsive relationship with movement. I’ll do some cardio. Not because I’m training for anything meaningful, but because anxiety looks better when it’s wearing sneakers. I also need to stretch. Not yoga. Not anything structured or spiritual. Just stretching. The kind your body demands when it’s been ignored and folded into a chair for too long.

I followed all the instructions. I hydrated. I cleaned. I checked everything off the list that’s supposed to equal balance. I even avoided social media for longer than medically advised. Still, there’s this low-grade panic buzzing under my skin. Like I missed something. Like I’m supposed to be doing more. Like I’m supposed to be somewhere else entirely.

So this is Chapter One. Not a revelation. Not a breakdown. Just a page. A thought dump with style. A place to set down the feelings that don’t quite make it to a group text or a therapist’s office. I’ll be back next week, unless I spontaneously combust or decide to go full recluse and live in the forest.