I Should Go to a Museum

Oof, it’s hot. 

Not as hot as it was two days ago, and certainly not so hot I can’t leave the house, and definitely not as hot as it will be next summer when I think about going to a museum.

I should go to a museum.

I enjoy the arts! I am a thoughtful and creative adult with a free afternoon! I should take my heart and brain on a field trip. I’m gonna do it! I’m going to go to a museum.

Oh no. How? Which? What museum? What if they’re all closed? Or not open yet? What if it’s a holiday? Or they’re closed for summer? Closed for fall? What if they’re hosting twelve middle school tours today when I show up and I’ll have to pretend to be a parent chaperone but I won’t know any of the tween trend references?

Do I go to an art museum? A cultural museum? A T-Rex museum? A museum whose exhibits come alive when I leave? A museum with two runaway kids living in the medieval wing? A “museum” with just one big sculpture, so really a room with a thing in it and nowhere to sit? A Branded Pop-Up Museum open for the purposes of taking pictures and driving more people to the museum and creating optical jealousy in your friends who haven’t been to the museum and fear they are not as cool as their friends who have been to the museum AND THEN THAT POP-UP MUSEUM POPS DOWN IN A CLOUD OF SMOKE AND FOMO and was it ever really there but then it pops-up in another city immediately and the cycle repeats?

That museum with a GARDEN! I’ve never been to that museum and I want to go to that museum because I’ve never been, because it is thirty-six minutes away in good traffic. I can’t drive because I’m existentially exhausted, and I can’t take the train because it doesn’t go there, and I can’t ride share because what if the driver wants to talk about his theory about why we’re “REALLY having all these storms…”

I could go to an ironic museum. A museum about Bread or something. Or a museum of stuffed mice re-enacting moments in history. 

I could go to a museum about spying. Or a ghost walk. Or a tour of the city’s grisly murders, with an overview of one mob assassination and the murders of twenty-five young showgirls, movie stars, mistresses or crazy doctor’s wives who got mixed up in the dark underbelly of leaving their homes alone. 

I’ll go to that classic museum with all the oil paintings and dubious financing and AIR CONDITIONING!I’m going to stay home and watch syndicated reruns of Bones.

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