It's days like these when the stupid, two-laner Idaho road stretches straight into the horizon and the only thing that stops you from coasting to the edge of consciousness is sadness.
It's days like these that steal your breath away instead of taking it away. Stolen in a tired, old way that crackles with skepticism and disguised enmity.
It's days like these when you'd want to cry for humanity, for the way the clouds look, for yourself, but you're stuck high and dry because your furrowed brow is getting in the way.
Reason and rationale tell you that you've got it good.
Suck it up, sweetheart, sadness doesn't suit you.
I finished my book today, which was very exciting and incredibly interesting. I'm definitely looking forward to buying Scarlett What's-her-name's other book(s). I found it so intriguing, in fact, that I'd love to leave you with a bit from the end, assuming M(r)s. Scarlett won't sue me for copyright:
You now have infinite choice.
But we carry on walking, anyway. We don't have to say anything.
And all the choices are there in front of me. Every single one.
But what we walk into is a garden. The most perfect garden that I have ever seen, with more trees than I have ever seen, and a river shimmering like a mirror running down the edge of it. I think that this makes sense, for consciousness to have begun in a garden, because consciousness evolved from plants, after all. And I look at Adam, but I can't speak anymore. I'm not sure I can even think. And there's one tree, standing by the river, and we walk towards it.
And then I understand.
Man, fuck reason.
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