My cat has a routine that is almost impeccable. From morning to evenings she lays on a box near my bed, hidden by a curtain. From the evening to night, she is in my brother's room lingering. I would not know what she would be up to till the dawn, but she's always busy, so I'm assuming as much.
We rarely look out at the night sky because there's nothing to see. Unless its rocks burning up in our atmosphere, then everyone goes out only to find the sky is overcast. In the city the lights drowned out everything. Even here, where stars blossom, I rarely look up. Force of habit, I suppose.
I rarely talk about work because there's hardly anything to say. It's work, in front of a computer screen - oh how dull has the computer made work. Even the car mechanics look at the computer now, because cars have become like computers. Most of the books I read are from a single grayscale screen. Convenient. I miss paper, but then I am rarely sentimental over such things. Things are things, plastic or metal or paper. One would think as much.
Movies and books are getting more boring. I have been watching a lot of movies and reading a lot of books. Have I been learning? Yes. Will one eventually run out of things to learn? Some would I say no. All things come to an end, but I am just too young to understand that, right?
So we take little steps going as slow as we grow and in a few years we realize we have gone so far and the road is going to end and you begin to wonder and regret the things that you had missed and the things that you had done. Would I have done things differently? Of course. Could I have? I don't know.
Most of our paragraphs end with assumptions, indeed most of what we believe in is conjecture. But whatever works, works.
We rarely look out at the night sky because there's nothing to see. Unless its rocks burning up in our atmosphere, then everyone goes out only to find the sky is overcast. In the city the lights drowned out everything. Even here, where stars blossom, I rarely look up. Force of habit, I suppose.
I rarely talk about work because there's hardly anything to say. It's work, in front of a computer screen - oh how dull has the computer made work. Even the car mechanics look at the computer now, because cars have become like computers. Most of the books I read are from a single grayscale screen. Convenient. I miss paper, but then I am rarely sentimental over such things. Things are things, plastic or metal or paper. One would think as much.
Movies and books are getting more boring. I have been watching a lot of movies and reading a lot of books. Have I been learning? Yes. Will one eventually run out of things to learn? Some would I say no. All things come to an end, but I am just too young to understand that, right?
So we take little steps going as slow as we grow and in a few years we realize we have gone so far and the road is going to end and you begin to wonder and regret the things that you had missed and the things that you had done. Would I have done things differently? Of course. Could I have? I don't know.
Most of our paragraphs end with assumptions, indeed most of what we believe in is conjecture. But whatever works, works.
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