Those labels on cereal boxes, the ones that say ‘Heart Healthy’, hold a respectable place among the top 10 Worst Developments of Modern Society. Behind their attention-grabbing, aesthetically-appealing bright colors and clean formatting (assuming these qualities are present– the cereal box for which they are not does indeed exist, but such items are so blatantly irrelevant that they needn’t be discussed at all. It is for everyone’s benefit that we do not acknowledge their existence) is a work of the devil. When your eye first stumbles upon one of these labels, you may feel a bit of surface-level pleasure, possibly a dash of polite interest, but nothing serious. Yet.

You will quickly find your feather-light, Sunday-afternoon emotions irreparably disrupted, however, when you begin to comprehend the words in front of you. “Heart Healthy”, it says, as innocently as if it were saying ‘good morning’; “supports low cholesterol”. At the tender hour of 5:34 AM these words splash on your brain like a bucket of ice water, cruelly startling it from the peaceful (if a bit ignorant) mushroom-fog of mid-autumn slumber. With your mind shaking itself like a wet dog, you carefully prod the box with a sleep-stiff finger. This process is completed in order to make sure it’s real – at this point it could quite possibly be a rough dream, a bad trip, a troublesome mirage praying upon you in your time of vulnerability– and with a sigh of resignation, you admit to yourself that it is fully solid, most likely occupying a concrete place in reality.

The words stumble through your half-functioning brain, flipping on lights as they go, knocking over waste-baskets every few feet. This only adds to the colossal mess that is already beginning to form. It takes the shape of a purple fog, something between tear gas and steamy grape juice - either way, entirely unwelcome. With a determined hand, you begin to shakily untangle the web of questions in your path. The first one to spring free is fairly simple; ‘excuse me’ it begins politely ‘but. Heart?’

“Not to mention ‘healthy’”, cries its other-half weakly from the tangle it has yet to be freed from.

This first question, you think with a tiny half-smile of relief, is at least manageable; you know what a heart is. Everyone does. This is basic knowledge. Unfortunately, this little pep talk does little to actually answer the question, and you have to drag yourself back through the hallways, sighing to every corner that will look your way, searching for the sign that says ‘basic knowledge, next left turn’.

Despite the fact that the light-fixtures along the hallways have now mostly been turned on, and even given some time to warm up to their full luminance, you trip over a very-visible item. Your body hits the ground with a crunch, greater than the one produced by the cereal that started this mess in the first place.

When you finally right yourself, at precisely 5:47 AM, you find with relief that the offending item is, in fact, the very thing that you were expediting to find. Picking up the manila-folder so graciously labeled ‘Heart’, you are too relieved to wonder why it has been moved from its proper place in the Hall of Basic Knowledge, or even worry over why it has been strewn about carelessly in the hallway waiting for you to come along at 5:47 AM and trip over it. 

Upon being opened, the folder seems to shine with a certain manila-sparkle as your eyes fall upon the documents inside – this, finally, will answer your question. Perhaps now you will be able to return to your kitchen and finally experience for yourself the ‘crunchy, satisfying taste’ of this horrendously complicated cereal. Although, the further this whole ordeal goes, the less you believe that even the most satisfying crunch in these fifty states and French Costa Rica will be worth your trouble.

You squint to read the small print: ‘Heart - a hollow muscular organ that pumps the blood through the circulatory system by rhythmic contraction and dilation. In vertebrates there may be up to four chambers (as in humans), with two atria and two ventricles’.

It takes a moment to set in before you realize. What the f*** is a ventricle?
What is a vertebrate?
How, exactly, does the heart rhythmically contract and dilate?

Why does Angel Dust cut off your pain sensors, and why don’t people who are suicidal take advantage of this situation? Wouldn’t it be a lot easier to shoot yourself if you didn’t have to worry about the pain?

(This last question is not entirely related to the situation at hand, but it has been clogging up your mind for a while, lurking in the corners, and has taken this opportunity to worm its way into the spotlight.)

These new questions - appearing on the front lines of the free-floating tangle that has stealthily trailed you up to this point - mock you with shimmering hatred. Tears of Low-pulp Tropicana, the very beverage that you should be enjoying right now with your ‘Heart Healthy’, ‘crunchy’, ‘satisfying’ bowl of morning happiness, stand precariously close to the edge of your eyelid, threatening to jump if you don’t pay them enough complimentary attention. 

‘Alright’ you whisper to them, breathing deeply in attempt to mask your exasperation with care and concern ‘come down from there, there’s always another choice’. After a few more motivational one-liners and a fine dusting of vague promises they slink back down, away from the edge, back into the ducts they came from. ‘Good’, you think to yourself lowly, peeking into the ducts to make sure no one in there can hear you ‘that was definitely an irritation, but it was almost a colossal mess.’

With an exaggerated huff, you turn exactly 180 degrees in an attempt to appear determined; it succeeds, causing the impending tangle to back off a few feet with its eyes squinted and its ears flat, but now you have to actually be determined. Or at least think of a very good reason to not. While you pilfer through the musty cardboard box labeled ‘Very Good Reasons to Not’, it hits you. Not with great force but with great mass – the experience is much like being casually bumped into by a 400 pound man. Not really violent, but still very jarring. Like strolling unsuspectingly into an invisible wall of Jell-O.

The thing that you have been hit with turns out to be neither an obese sumo wrestler nor a wall of gelatinous treat – you have been hit with a realization - an epiphany, of sorts.

Full House is on in less than 10 minutes.

Sure, it’s part of a marathon that runs until seven, so there’s really no way to miss it, but you could very well be asleep by that time. Passed out from the exhaustion of this Whole Ordeal. It is precisely 5: 53 AM, and you are already counting the minutes until bedtime.

With your luck, the first Full House to feature will be the one in which Joey dresses up as Santa Clause when they get stuck in the airport for Christmas, and the rest will be featuring a sassy, ‘mature-young-woman’ DJ and a saggy Bob Saget. No doubt John Stamos will still be in his prime, but even at fifty-two golden years he is still up and running, with his snap-to-it attitude and Swanky Get-up. Not to mention the Greek yogurt commercials.
This Whole Ordeal is now not only keeping you from your entirely-too-complicated bowl of cereal, and keeping your body frozen in the kitchen with a hand outstretched and waiting for go-ahead, but you may just miss the only thing that keeps you getting up in the morning. (Admittedly, you go right back to sleep when it’s over, but still... points for getting up at all).

At this point, it almost seems as if you should go back to bed, and sleep until your alarm goes off for the 4:00 PM That 70’s Show marathon. It is strange, considering the rest of your habits, that you wake yourself up at a specific time to watch something that is entirely available on YouTube any hour of any day, but there’s something about watching it on television that feels just that much better. And ‘that much’, however small a portion it really is, is inarguably worth it. Even if ‘that much’ is the size of a premature baby snail, it is still a very large increase, percentage wise.