Day 11: Pooped
Today I went to an art museum and I learned something about myself: I don’t know what to do in an art museum. Am I supposed to be impressed by a 6,000 year old bowl? Can I touch things even if there’s no sign saying “Do Not Touch?” Am I supposed to know who this dude is?
By my estimates, the museum patrons were 65% rich old white ladies on lunch dates with other rich old white ladies, 30% summer campers, and 5% people who went with the vague notion that “me + museum = smarter.”
I spent five hours in that place and I gotta say, I am fucking exhausted. I don’t understand it. I walked around and looked at things. That’s what I do every day. I walk. I see things. Nothing sounds tiring about that. Put me in a room with glass cases and portraits of English noblemen and I feel like Kevin James running a marathon.
Anyways, I’m tired and I desperately need a full night’s sleep. I’ll write more tomorrow!
Nine treatments down, twenty-six to go!