The other day I was walking through a parking lot and spotted a suburban with a Nimitz football sticker on the windshield. My first impulse was to find a rock and smash the window in.
There once was a man who dreamed he was a butterfly, and woke up wondering how he could know he wasn’t a butterfly dreaming he was man.
The 4th century B.C. Chinese philosopher credited with that, Zhuangzi, isn’t asking a real question, just something about the nature of knowledge. But, it’s something we’re all familiar with, waking to an intense feeling that evaporates under the rays of the sun.
Last week I spent more hours unconscious than conscious, I think literally.
All good things must come to an end, which is a shame made palatable only because all bad things end as well.
The other day a friend called me in the early morning hours, knowing, I’m sure, that I’d likely be awake still and not at all mind if she’d been drinking a bit.