It's Your Call

Some days you just stare hard at objects and wait for them to make sense. Other days everything seems hopelessly out of focus, so maybe you listen instead. Why are those birds making noise? What could they possibly have to say at this hour?

You wake up, look at the clock. It doesn't make sense.

You make coffee, pour some in a mug, and drink. The world remains blurry, you no longer hear birds. Where have they gone?

Every part of your house is familiar, and yet, you sometimes wonder if there's a meaning behind it all. Something hidden behind the surface. Probably not, you think, but what if there is?

The coffee is warm, thick, and bitter. You'd like that to be a metaphor for something, but it's just a drink to help get you going, help you think of metaphors.

You don't see the sunrise, you only see evidence of the sunrise. You think about the tight range of temperatures in which humans can survive, and the margin for error on this planet. We are highly improbable beings, but as empirical evidence suggests, not impossible. Hooray for us.

Birds don't make sense. Words don't make sense. We don't make sense.

Can you see me now? No, still out of focus. Still trying to understand clocks that measure time as though it were a meaningful element, as though it mattered in any real sense of the word, as though words themselves weren't also artificial constructs.

It's not that thinking, in and of itself, isn't good. That particular human activity has been largely beneficial over the years. It's just that maybe sometimes you want to turn off the switch and simply exist for a while. Or maybe stop using your words, lest you write something incomprehensible like this. It's your call.