Thought.is

I see zombies. Or as close as humans can get to being zombies. The kid with his laptop, looking, gate to gate to gate, for a power outlet near a bench he can lie on.

You could have had someone who gave 110% of himself all the time, every time. Someone with a mind of his own. Someone with innovative ideas, who loves being part of a team. Someone who didn’t just automatically think about pleasing you, but also thought of moving us forward, together, as a unit. But you chose the lesser, cheaper, easier alternative.

Where is home? Are you the person you left behind, or the person you’re going back to? And if both those Yous should ever meet, will the two different sides of that equation equal who you are now? Or has one side won out?

There is no bigger sign of affection and closeness than a big lick to the face.

No matter how many times you tell yourself it works, “natural musk” will only take you so far. No one, from a potential employer to the pizza delivery guy, will go near you if you smell like garbage-marinated bunghole.

I challenge you to visit. Walk down its streets and avenues. Explore its museums. Discover its culture — your culture. Smell its cherry blossoms. Breathe its history — your history. Troll its bars and speakeasies for that elusive perfect glass of bourbon. Try its food. Meet its people.

I have at least five alarm clocks, none of which have snooze buttons and none even close to being at arm’s length from my bed. I have set up habits that put me in a sleepy mood earlier in the evening. I have taken pills. I have done everything save be shocked with a cattle prod in the morning.