You come into possession of 12-25 sample eye creams. Every few weeks you get another one. How do they get there? No one knows. What do they do? No one knows.

There is a true-crime documentary playing on the laptop in front of you and you have a glass of wine in your hand. Normally you’d be horrified at falling so seamlessly into a cliché, but instead you feel content. The most baffling mystery of all is how you grew into someone who genuinely enjoys these things. A cat purrs gently at your feet. You don’t have a cat.

“What year is it?? Where is the nearest phone booth? Do we even still have phone booths??”, you tweet to no one in particular, confident that the vague '80s dystopian movie tone will resonate with your 200 followers. It’s been 18 minutes and there are no likes. You touch your face. Do you even exist? Who can be sure?

You dream of your mother. “I had the baby, just like you wanted. What should I do now?” you ask, looking for guidance. “Honey, I don’t freaking know,” she says before transforming into a cloud of moths and fluttering out the window.

Your nephew is playing Pokemon. “What generation is your favorite?” he asks quizzically. “Generation?” You learn you are first generation. He is the eighth. You scan his Nintendo Switch for a familiar face but only see twisted abominations.

“You’re too old for that,” they whisper. Strange. It feels like moments ago you were too young for that. You slip under the veil, trapped between worlds.

“50% off!” the email shrieks. “50% off what?”, you wonder. You delete the email. There are two more in its place when you refresh your inbox.

A former friend likes eight Facebook pictures of you from 2015. You haven’t spoken to them in years. “I’m in town. Let’s get a drink.” They say it like it’s an invitation, but it feels like a threat.

You make a Homestarrunner joke to a friend. They respond with silence, staring at you blankly. Is this some sort of Mandela effect or are you now a woman of a certain age?

The home goods section calls to you, a sweet unearthly song that you cannot resist. Was it always there you wonder? Or are you just hearing it now? You blink. Two years have passed and you’re sitting in the same place. You wrench your eyes open, determined not to lose time again. Your lids grow heavy.

Yesterday someone asked if you had any children. You wanted to get mad but then you realized that it was no longer a wild assumption on their part.

You put on your favorite ironic tee. It doesn’t look ironic anymore. It looks like you’re the type of lady who collects porcelain figurines and never dusts them. You take the t-shirt off and put it back in your drawer, but it’s too late. You know of its unsettling power.

It finally happened. The day you’ve been dreading. You told your young family member about how Ashlee Simpson lip-synced on SNL. “Who?” they asked, eyes filled with bewilderment.