Mundanity

A day like this is not one to remember. Nothing inherently special in it. I woke up, ate breakfast, fucked around all day, and then went to sleep. How many days do you remember? Do you think back to that random Thursday half a year ago where you did the same thing you did the day before and the day after? Can you go back a year? A decade? It makes you realize that our past is as ephemeral as a passing fancy. Yet, it's still as solid as the ground we walk upon. I believe people think that the momentary flashes of excitement, the splashes of color in our otherwise gray lives, is what makes us who we are. But our lives aren't just exaggerated peaks and troughs. They are the flatter lines. The average. The mundane.

Anyway, everything is bullshit

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