preparing for hipster-ism

To go from my current state and delve into ultimate hipterism, I sacrificed an entire day of work to prepare.  Bear with me.

(a) Last night, I slept naked on my sheepskin rug in some Florida orchard so I could wake up to the smell of citrus and carnations.  I collected apples for breakfast like some Eve fantasy, and shared them with my mixed-breed dog and a forlorn child on his way to public school.

(b) The sunrise was beautiful. I thought to put my glasses on and enjoy it, but a true hipster would appreciate the radiant blur of pink and orange that is, most definitely, a blur. Defined lines are the death of my kind.

(c) I spent my morning hours basking in the cool air and reading a weathered poetry book I squandered from some urban store down south.  By 10am, I had quit my coffee shop job and made my way back to my glass cityscape apartment to line my walls with burlap and paint something gray.

(d) By 11am, I'd made some meatless dish out of the rest of the unseasonal apples and sent a letter in a bottle down the creek bed. I know my bearded lover will find it. 

(e) He didn't. But by 2pm, we'd housebroken our nameless dog through a series of rituals he'd picked up in Malaysia. We then talked about his beard and invented recipes for organic coffee.

(f) By evening, I'd posted 9 things on Instagram and bleached my hair thrice.  I finished another book that will never scrape the New York Bestsellers and fell asleep to the sound of Bon Iver.

Because that's the only thing I know.

I am ready for the hipster world.