Breaking routines is difficult. Even more difficult is dealing with a routine that is broken for you against your will. Every week on thursday I've got lunch one hour later than the other days. At the 11:40 buzzer, I suddenly get hungry like one of Pavlov's dogs salivating to the little jingling bell. But on Thursday lunch isn't until 12:30. Imagine running in a marathon, but right when the finish line is just in sight, some officials grab the tape and move it back another mile or two. It's a sick and twisted social experiment, I say.
Day 58
I do fear, sometimes, that the act of pondering aloud has become a cathartic experience and nothing more . It is hard in this town to find a diversity of thought, because we've all been raised in very similar ways with the same norms, experiences, and conventions. I find that the mightiest opinions of some of the the twentysomethings I know are so damningly narrow that they cannot possibly stand to the slightest breeze of doubt. Often the biggest theory is the thinnest. Our shadows grow long and starved moments before they disappear under the sunset. The natural world has cursed us with its indifference, its vaccuum of conscience in which deeds neither good nor evil subsist. I find the urge to view our species of conscious and conscientious beings as alien. It is as though the world we inhabit was never intended for us to inhabit it. In short, this town is a box. This country, political system, individualistic ideology, humanist dogma, faux rebellion against imagined authority; it ...
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