A few times a year, I meet up with some of my college friends ($80k annual tuition) from a seminar called Poverty and Inequality. We bonded over a group project where we had to create a PowerPoint about where we think that the Poverty Line should be drawn. (Are you living in poverty if you don’t have WiFi? What if you’re just off the grid?)

After a few $21 martinis, the same conversation always comes up. The perennial riddle: is there a such thing as ethical consumption under capitalism?

I had the strangest dream last night. I was running through a Beauty and the Beast-esque castle while being chased by a cartoon policeman. A life-long lucid dreamer, I immediately knew this was a dream, not because the law was on my heels in a Disney-inspired castle, but because I was too tall—a miraculous six feet—and also deaf. I was carrying a small grey backpack with a frozen baby inside it. Despite being rock solid in its frozen cage, the baby was somehow alive. My mission was to take it to a magical fridge which could save its life.

Sometimes, on the verge of a depressive episode, I go online and look at the Arby’s menu as a way to ground myself. It’s a unique methodology of acknowledging the past, the 5 for $5 deal exemplifying just how distant my childhood has become, while also challenging myself to relinquish control by embracing the inherent uncertainty that tomorrow guarantees: Arby’s has introduced Steak Nuggets.

So the first thing is to turn on the baseball game at 7 o’clock. If it’s not 7 o’clock then what you need to do is change into something comfortable, probably shorts. You can try some flip flops but that’s up to you. Just something chill. If it’s still not 7 o’clock once you’re in your clothes you’re going to need to check the news to see what’s been going on. If there’s been anything going on that makes you a little uncomfortable try some cartoons. You could also just read something online.

Whenever the honeysuckle starts to bloom, I’m reminded of the spring when everyone decided it was a great idea for me to ride the back seat of a tandem bicycle with my father-in-law. He wasn’t even my father-in-law yet, which made this imposed, volun-told decree even more profoundly horrible.