Even considering the immense technological advancements during your lifetime, you are still astounded by the functioning of a lightbulb. There is one lightbulb in your house that needs to be changed, but you assume that will take care of itself. You say you like cooking, but you can’t recall the last time you made anything that wasn’t a sandwich or a bowl of cereal. You’re slightly cold but hadn’t really noticed, and anyway, you convince yourself that it’s easier to just sit where you are being chilly than to change your clothing or the thermostat.
You are now manually blinking.
Your nose is always in view.
Scratch that itch, wherever it came from.
Your spirituality is personal to you. It comes primarily from an experience you had years ago with your best friends, but you can certainly understand why others find comfort in religion. You can’t shake that you’re smarter than them. You find that you’re smarter than most people, but you acknowledge that the intelligence in your head outperforms it once the words come out.
You believe you’d be one of the few survivors after an apocalypse. Sometimes you’d even welcome the chance to prove it. You shouldn’t. You would die immediately.
You have an inside cosmic joke with yourself that, if anybody else knew, would make you a little more boring.
You hear certain sounds more clearly than others do.
The last time you cried, you were alone.
You can’t recall the last time you went for a walk without a destination. You don’t listen to music as much as you used to. You don’t know why.
You never know why.
[Editor’s note: The author shares a birthday with Mr. Bolton, and my guess is this post is more personal than he’s letting on. I bet he wishes he was famous enough to be the one receiving a fun message on this day. That’s probably why he started this stupid project to begin with. Now I’m forced to read and approve the daily ramblings of a non-famous, disingeuous misanthrope.]