Cleansing tends to wobble awake my third eye. And though this usually comes in the form of a severe headache, I'm generally happy to see it's still around. To celebrate the return of my third eye, I'm going to take seven or eight deep breathes, drink a tall glass of water, brush my locks, scrub the dead skin from my face, slip into something that resembles a sweatpant, polish my third eye's monocle and fall into dreamland. While I slumber in aged white sheets, my third eye and my dreams will come together to bedazzle my reality. This bedazzlement may be used when: sitting next to a stranger on the bus
washing the dishes
planting a lettuce seed
squeezing a pimple
elongating my neck
lighting a match
cooking soup
hanging upside down
taking a wiz
writing a song
standing in a corner
hiding under a bed
walking on knees
humming
accidentally bumping into a wall