Everything feels so sureal. Like tomorrow I'm going to forget that I have to get up, and drive to the airport, and park my car, and check into an airline, and get on a plane, and go. I know I'm not driving to work tomorrow. I packed my bags, and the clothing I'm bringing feels random and arbitrary. I'd say minimalist, but the colors are bright, and the combinations bizarre, enough to question myself over and over again: "are you sure you know what's about to happen?" I guess none of us really do know for sure. I am going to take a moment to set my alarm clock immediately.
O.K. I've written several paragraphs and erased them, realizing that I don't know what to say next. None of it has kept me interested, but I really like that the ideas and words were put into the world and now they're floating over my head. And I am the only one who knows what they said and that they really existed. Those things I wrote, were they about you? And if they were, were they positive, or negative? Can you hear what I have to say, or are you standing naked in the dark, wondering if I give a damn?
I probably don't give a damn.
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