I Wish Someone Would Influence Me To Save the World
Otherwise how am I going to do it?
Internet influencers have a deep impact on my life. Thanks to that model who always posts photos of her breakfast, I’ve begun exploring the exciting world of chia seeds and chorizo (or was it churro?) french toast. The beauty influencer I follow on Snapchat is teaching me to erase my zits and love myself zits and all. The country musician taught me who I should be voting for and that fun, relatable politician introduced me to the concept of creating illustrated shopping lists.
I’ve got a stack of recommended beauty supplies so high you can’t even see my mirror over them.
And I’m much so much better off! My life was a mess when it was just me and my stuffed otters, but now it’s me, my stuffed otters, my phone friends, and five hundred pounds of goji berries. Everything is amazing.
An aside: Did you know that journaling reduces anxiety, gives you better perspective on your choices and is an activity that makes you look deep and insightful when you post about it on social media? Neither did I! But now I’m deep, insightful and have 5 more followers than I did before I started journaling.
So, influencers have had a major impact on my life. They’ve convinced me there can be more to life and I’m considering wandering out of the darkness of my bedroom and into the comparatively better light of the living room (I can take better selfies there).
But, before leaving my bedroom, there’s a tiny hiccup.
Just a small thing.
It’s the matter of my bed. Too make or not to make? So many influencers are unclear on this aspect of modern life!
I watched a YouTube video from a fashion stylist and his sheets were literally everywhere, like a trio of marmots had decided to make sweet, angry love in them. And the fashion stylist didn’t even acknowledge the poltergeist that had so recently occurred in his den.
Is it possible?
Are messy beds in now? Am I supposed to leave my sheets artfully rumpled? What about the drool stains? Won’t everyone see them? What about all the stuffed otters tangled up in the sheets? Am I supposed to post that on social media? Ha! Can you imagine?
I guess I could try.
But the home decor influencers are further complicating matters, with straw hats set atop their perfectly made linen comforters and piles of artfully arranged pillows stacked like brocade towers of Babel.
WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?
I’m overanalyzing this. I’m not approaching it with the carefree aura of exuberance that makes influencing such a influential endeavor.
Mama used to tell me to make my bed every morning. Was Mama wrong? Can I trust her advice? She doesn’t even have an Instagram account.
And while I’m puzzling over whether or not to make my bed, outside evil robots are attacking the city, taking big bites out of roofs and stealing various humans so they can grind them up into robot fuel. Someone should do something about this vicious rampage. The screaming is so loud. I’m feeling very suggestible at the moment and if an influencer would just show me the way, maybe I could pick up this one-of-a-kind, robot-killing cannon and take out a few of those bad boys.
But the politician isn’t doing it.
And the #girlboss isn’t doing it.
And the famous chef isn’t doing it.
So I don’t know if I should. It might not be cool.
And there’s the matter of this bed. I really need to get this thing solved before I even think about saving the world. I tried making it and it looked wrong. I tried unmaking it, but that isn’t right, either. Someone with a lot of followers, please tell me what to do.
The evil robot is at the window.
His teeth are big and sharp and made of rusty iron. (Not very photogenic. Won’t be snapchatting this.)
Why are his eyes so red?
He’s smashing the window.
He’s reaching inside. Robots have claws. Oh no. They’re coming closer. So sharp. Reaching. Reaching.
“Sir Robot? Should I make my bed?”
Thanks for reading! If you liked this post, consider following me on twitter. Where I promise not to try and influence you.