Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Thy Cup Hath Been Poisoned

Several items on my mind as I watch a man with a gun pull into a gas station on an overcast day halfway through an anonymous stretch of the Middle of Nowhere*:
  • At what point do you have to justify your prioritization of tasks, people, events, dreams, needs, and desires to the bevy of stakeholders who all think they are the majority owner of your life?
  • How does one chop a salad while in free-fall?
  • Why does everything on television happen in New York or L.A.? And sometimes Miami?
  • There are five drunken tigers inside of this box. The box is decreasing in size at a constant rate of 0.38 cm³/s. You have a clothes hanger, $5.72, and the complete Michael Jackson discography. You are also a narcoleptic. What do you do?
  • Is the passage of timing really speeding up as I age, or do I just not care as much about how long it's been since I last did [x]?
  • To the cloud! Which doesn't exist!

*Isn't firing a gun at a gas station generally considered to be a Bad Idea?

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