This week I don’t know what to talk about.
Well less that and more I don’t have time to think about what I want to talk about. I went home this weekend. So, I guess I could talk about how driving through Cleves felt like visiting an alternate reality. But I don’t have time to decompress those emotions in any way that makes remote sense. I could talk about the stress of midterms, and how my main coping mechanism seems to be sleep. But that would require me to wake up from this fog and have progressive thought about something other than democratic accountability and slant asymptotes. I’m sure I could write about how I got to see one of my favorite musicians at the front row of a coffee shop this week. But I would have to force myself to accept it as a memory instead of hoping to live in that moment again.
In short, I have lots to write about, but no motivation to concoct some pseudo-philosophic argument or epiphany.
So instead, here is my essay on nothing. I didn’t eat breakfast this morning. I never do. I really can’t if I don’t want a stomach ache all morning. I went to my math lecture. We’re talking about rational and polynomial inequalities. The fact that those words, which were total nonsense, now make total sense is an interesting topic. Another day perhaps. Perhaps not.
I guess I didn’t stick the landing with this piece. Oh, well.