Dans' face-washing induced insomnia

This is a lil stanzalet of a poem I hope to finish some day when I figure out more about what the future would be like if it were a steamy presence that enters the bathroom when you are bathing. Got the first line from part of a line in an Angela Ball poem that I read a few pages of during the 'short and not sweet except for pie' Thanksgiving break.

The future arrives
while I'm still in the shower,
climbs the splintery wooden steps
of my drunken nightmares, and
raids the medicine cabinet as
bath steam, touting Excedrine
over Advil.

It's so little and cute, huh? Then I thought to myself "What else is the future" and I thought of some pretty funny things that don't really fit with my stanza...like:
The future is a small-time tornado scattering rural cows,
quitting before break time. "Guys I think I'm done tornadoing
for now. Wanna go out for a drink"

And "the future is an encylopedia of lust being written presently in cuneiform". (I don't think this makes sense at all)


Ya'll,
What is the future??????????????????
Sincerely,

Danielle