And no, I’m not “high,” okay, I’m just tired and I might be gay and it’s a really nice vase And I have some thoughts about the vase, but that’s not the same thing as being high, I just get really tired in the afternoons but I can’t nap and it makes time seem purple
This has brought me considerable joy. Especially "[i]t's head-hurting good, and I kind of fucking hate it!", which describes a lot of feelings I have.
I feel like you peered into my innermost soul and gave me this when I most needed it. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
This version of Keats reminds me of David Foster-Wallace. Especially the "w/r/t".