I leave for work with a paper bag full of tomatoes because I overplanted, and someone will want them. The plants have subsumed the broccoli, the herbs, and the onions. On the way to the bus, my doctor returns my phone call about the medicine she has prescribed. Although there is a correlation to organ failure, causation has not been shown conclusively yet, and there are other associated comorbidities. Besides, we are talking in terms of risk management. This death is less likely than the other death, so she recommends I keep taking the medicine. My mind escapes into entropy as an interesting concept instead of a reality. I wrote a paper once about disorder, break down, and decrepitude in social structures, and how they follow physical laws. I snap back to the words esophageal cancer and nod along. I wonder what becomes of the electrical pulses that comprise the thoughts we perceive as a soul, and how energy can neither be created nor destroyed, and I lose the rest of what she says, though I am sure it is important. But I am late to work and am carrying a bag of tomatoes because I planted too many, and they need somewhere to go.
AuthorMarkMiller 1 Minute
Published by AuthorMarkMiller
I am most recently an absurdist living in a dystopia. Watch for falling objects. View all posts by AuthorMarkMiller