Recycling Sights

How to Turn Your Life Into a Slow-Motion Train Wreck (With Extra Steps for Maximum Enjoyment)

Let’s be honest—you’re already failing at life. Maybe you didn’t mean to, but here you are, staring at your phone while your coffee goes cold, nodding along in meetings you don’t remember, and pretending to enjoy the existential dread of modern existence. Congratulations! You’ve mastered the Aesthetic of Neglect, that delightful art form where you technically exist but only in the most passive, half-assed way possible. Welcome to the Prospect-Refuge Theory of the Modern Eye, now rebranded as “How to Become a Human Ghost” in Miserable: How to Fail at Life (But Make It Look Like You’re Trying).

The real kicker? You’re not even doing it badly. You’re doing it with efficiency. Your brain has optimized for surface-level engagement, because why bother with depth when you can scroll past the parts that hurt? Your eyes are recycling sights like a well-trained corporate drone—taking in, sorting, and dumping anything that doesn’t immediately serve your dopamine needs. And the worst part? You think you’re busy. You think you’re productive. You think you’re alive. Spoiler: You’re not. But hey, at least you’re consistent.

Recipe: How to Fail at Seeing (Yields: One Very Confused, Half-Attentive Human)

Ingredients:

1 desk (preferably cluttered, because nothing says “I care” like a surface that looks like a tornado hit it)
1 public bathroom (bonus points if it’s in a mall or office building—maximum recycled sights)
1 cityscape (any will do, but urban areas are ideal for maximum visual neglect)
1 stranger (optional, but highly recommended for maximum existential dread)
1 unblinking stare (the secret ingredient—your eyes must remain fixed on the screen while your mind drifts)
1 healthy dose of denial (mandatory for the full experience)

Instructions:

The Desk Audit (Or: How to Pretend You’re Organizing While Actually Sabotaging Yourself) Grab a trash bag and start tossing things. Not because you’re a minimalist (that’s for people who actually care), but because clutter is the enemy of passive disengagement. The goal isn’t to “clear your space”—it’s to create the illusion of progress while secretly enjoying the satisfaction of throwing away things you’ll miss in three days. Pro tip: Keep the Post-it notes. They’re proof you were productive. Even if you can’t remember what they said.
The Public Stare (Or: How to Make a Stranger Question Their Life Choices) Find a peeling advertisement, a pothole, or a mysterious stain on the wall and lock eyes with it. Don’t blink. Don’t look away. Let the Cold Shower of Reality wash over you as you realize you’ve been ignoring this thing for years. If a stranger asks what you’re doing, just smile and say, “I’m conducting a study on human indifference.” Then walk away before they realize you’re just a weirdo.
The Bathroom as a Mirror (Or: How to Turn a Public Restroom Into Your Personal Therapy Session) This is where things get real. Stand in front of the mirror and examine the peeling paint like it’s your ex’s flaws. Notice the water stains? That’s your life. The stranger in the next stall? That’s your future self, judging you for not flossing. Don’t look away. The longer you stare, the more you’ll realize you’ve been recycling your own existence for years. Congratulations, you’re officially a master of avoidance.
The Urban Expedition (Or: How to Pretend You’re a Tourist While Still Being a Human Ghost) Walk through your city like you’re seeing it for the first time. Don’t skip the graffiti. Don’t filter out the street performer. Engage. But not too much—just enough to feel like you’re participating in life without actually doing anything. If someone asks why you’re staring at a dumpster, just say, “I’m researching urban decay.” Then walk away before they realize you’re just lonely.

Note from the Chef (Or: Why You’re Doing This Wrong on Purpose):

You didn’t come here to see. You came here to recycle. To ignore. To pretend. And honestly? That’s fine. The world is a messy place, and sometimes the best way to survive is to turn your eyes into a landfill—but one where you’re the only one who knows what’s actually in there. Just don’t expect anyone else to understand your deliberate half-assedness. They won’t. And that’s exactly how you like it.

Conclusion: You’re Not Failing—You’re Just Being Efficient

Let’s be clear: You’re not failing at life. You’re just optimizing for comfort. You’re not lazy—you’re adapted. You’re not ignoring the world—you’re curating your own personal hellscape of neglect, and honestly? It’s working. You’re alive. You’re breathing. You’re technically functioning. And if that’s the best you can do? Well, at least you’re consistent.

So go ahead. Keep recycling your sights. Keep pretending you’re engaged. Keep staring at your phone while your life scrolls past you. Just remember: the only thing worse than failing at life is failing at life without even realizing you’re failing. And trust me, you’re doing the latter. Happy neglecting.