No matter how hard I try, I just can't wrap my mind around this whole multiverse thing. Other dimenions, sure. Time travel, so not a problem. An infinite number of versions of existence, each one based on every possible choice that can be made--not. even. close. bub.
If this is a sign I'm just not smart enough, well, surely wouldn't be the first time. I've been asked to leave many situations for far less complex matters.
Still hella curious stuff.
Standing happy and slightly drunk in my kitchen, I'm unaware that tonight is the end of all of this. The end of everything I know, everything I love.
No one tells you it's all about to change, to be taken away. There's no proximity alert, no indication that you're standing on the precipice. And maybe that's what makes tragedy so tragic. Not just what happens, but how it happens: a sucker punch that comes at you out of nowhere, when you're least expecting it. No time to flinch or brace.
It isn't what I expected. Not seedy or dirty in the lurid sense of the word. Just forgotten. Past prime. The way I remember my great-grandparents' living room in their teetering Iowa farmhouse. As if the worn furniture has been here for a thousand years, frozen in time while the rest of the world marched on. The air carries the scent of must, and big-band music plays quietly through a hidden sound system. Something from the 1940s.
Amanda glances up from the notebook, asks, "You're sure writing it down is the best way to go?"
"When you write something, you focus you full atttention on it. It's almost impossible to write one thing while thinking about another. The act of putting it on paper keeps your thoughts and intentions aligned."
Even. then, the gun counter always held a fascinations for me.
A mystique.
I could never imagine what would drive someone to want to own one.
I've only fired a gun two or three times in my life, while I was in high school in Iowa. Even then, shooting at rusted oil drums on my best friend's farm, I didn't experience the same thrill as the other kids. It scared me too much. As I would stand facing the target, aiming the heavy pistol, I couldn't escape the thought I was holding death.
