2:24PM On A Sunday, Reaching For The 12th Biscuit

2:24PM On A Sunday, Reaching For The 12th Biscuit

A self help guide for hungover existentialists.

Words by Anthea Fahy.

You know when it’s 2:24PM on a Sunday, and your mouth is so parched it feels like an un-buttered Sayo, and you have to go to work tomorrow. You got home at 4:30AM, your staring at the end of your bed frame, and having a slight existential crisis…and for some weird reason your brain is completely full to the brim with intentions.

Your head vessel is full to the top of your skull with fantastic ideas that have a plan in place to execute. These intentions in your mind sit at the very peak, at the forefront of your thoughts every so often, then they float around and get softly melded in with all other thoughts that swim around and occupy your head. The intentions are like a mysterious, untapped pot of liquid gold. The pot of gold is totally achievable, but the only thing that’s getting in the way is you, and the other thoughts that you chose to act upon because of say, reachability, easiness or immediate attainability. Instead of finishing that thing you’ve been chipping away at for five years; that dream project you’ve always wanted to manifest; instead of looking for a fulfilling job; instead of washing your hair; instead of joining an environmental campaign; instead of becoming an amazing guitarist; instead of going for that run so your body is hot shit; instead of being more of a productive and functioning member of culture and society in general and essentially helping those in need to contribute to the greater good of mankind in general; instead you throw your hand deeper into the packet of Venetian biscuits and your going in for number 12.

Instead you drink the tenth beer, instead you snort a little more, instead you put on another song, instead you scroll a little further on some inane person's profile on a social media platform. Instead you fall back to sleep. Instead you have casual relations with people for no reason and walk out in the morning with your hair stuck to your forehead and shoeless. Instead you call a buddy and go out to distract yourself from your intentions. Instead you watch overweight B-grade chefs swill food around in their mouths on a reality TV show. Instead you watch dull walks of life loll around on their YouTube channels in desperate attempts to become famous which is apparently very interesting to you, now that you are on the cusp of cashing your intentions in. Instead you watch, smile and listen, downing quick and slick shots of liquor to stay interested in watching people talk about other people (about other people), making comparisons, tossing their hair for effect at a party.

You’d rather leave that pot of gold there for now because you know the intentions are always going to be foreseeable; something to look forward to; they will always be there. These intentions, are bloody sexy. They’re as sexy as Pierce Brosnon on a Tuesday night, you try to escape that fact – but its just plain true. What with their extremely attractive consequences, their erotic, muscly and tanned ideas, their new wave, modern and slicked back innovations, all created by little old you, that will eventually make your existence better, in general.

The time is now. With vigour, you hurl the biscuit packet in the bin ready to take your life by absolute storm in the right direction, step-by-step with your intentions (hear you roar). Biscuit crumbs cascade to the floor as you stand vertical ready for action so that your mental state mimics yourself in physicality. You get changed from your back-up-shirt-when it’s washing day (a Simple Plan tee) and get into the best smart/casual outfit with NO stains, all known labels, even the socks and underwear are labels - that’s how serious you are (your genitals are breathing very well in those CK's). You know about the other brain blockers you have to deal with: laziness, tiredness, food, coming down from the night before, YouTube vloggers that represent outwardly mundane and self-entitled walks of life that you joyously watch regardless.

BUT no! Your willpower to address your intentions will surpass all distraction, all obstacles. You will get to that sweet G-spot of productivity, to the other side of your psyche. This is real, all your dreams are about to come true… Then your buddy calls you up to see if you want to see a live gig and to star gaze afterwards on the roof.  It’s now the next morning, it’s Sunday again. You’re feeling hungover the edge of a mountain top to the n'th degree. You go for a swim in the ocean with your friends in the afternoon and get burgers on the way to rid yourself of alcohol consumption before you have to awake the next day for work.

At 2:24PM, you reach for that 13th biscuit joyously and realize that you are human. Humans are strange and messy things that do things in there own way when the moment calls. You realize that at least your intentions are real and at least your intentions have been concocted by you - at least you want to do more and that you do more than you know.

Reaching for that 13th biscuit is okay sometimes but it’s the self-doubt that holds you back. It’s the feeling guilty about reaching for that 13th biscuit that holds you back. That biscuit's are sweet and taste good. When it’s 2:24PM on a Sunday just let those intentions sit there for a little while longer. The pot of liquid gold intentions will eventually be tapped into, bit by bit, in your own time, this little pot of gold that drives you will never run out. How great that is. There is no time bomb strapped to your chest. That 13th biscuit tastes phenomenal. At least you’re not a real estate marketing expert who focuses on the wrong things in life and is more concerned with the thought of whether the ATM allows for $300 withdrawals, and how many $300 withdrawals can be made from one ATM in order to r*** up in the bathroom of a club.

It’s all cool. It’s all gravy.