There are days when your brain decides to clock out before your body does. Today was one of those days. I was exhausted. So bone-tired that I couldn’t tell the difference between highbrow, lowbrow, and absolutely no-brow TV.

Enter: Trainwreck: The Poop Cruise.

Yes. That is what I somehow watched. That is the title. That is the energy. That is apparently where my psyche went when it needed a “break.”

How did I land there, you ask? I don’t know. One minute I was flipping through Netflix thinking I might revisit a comforting British crime drama. The next, I’m knee-deep in maritime mayhem, biohazards, and baffling passenger interviews. The horror. The plumbing. The poopocalypse.

Honestly, I don’t even remember pressing play. I think my brain whispered, “You’ve been serious enough lately. You need a little absurdity to balance the cosmos.”

And wow, the cosmos delivered.

Now, did I need to watch this? Absolutely not. Did I want to? Also no. Do I regret it? Not entirely. Because sometimes, after a long day of adulting, grief-carrying, world-saving, and mission-leading, you just need to let your mind melt into the couch and float on a sea of ridiculousness.

Some people meditate. I, apparently, watch poop cruises.

Let this be a lesson: your brain will find rest one way or another. It’s okay to occasionally veer off the intellectually stimulating path into the hilariously absurd detour. As long as you don’t dock there permanently, all is well.

Tomorrow, I may read a book. Or solve a work crisis. Or write a policy memo. But tonight? Tonight, I honor my weird little detour.

Float on, friends. Float on.