Sun

It strikes me that we are carving out meager existences on a roughly spherical rock a certain distance from a hellish ball of fire from which light, the fastest thing we know of, in truth a thing we think defines the upper limit of how fast a thing can be, takes a full seven minutes to reach us, and we are not to even look directly at it, lest its power at that fearsome distance do permanent damage to our impermanent selves. It strikes me because too often I am impatient in a way that is unreasonable. Light, I think, is truly impatient, arranging to travel at the upper bound, and also refusing, except when marshaled by weird science experiments and I'm told, matter also, to travel any slower.

I have this long drive and I've grown to accept it a little bit, but only a very little bit. Today, the whole network was down. No internet for an entire day. Tomorrow is our independence day. I suspect I should do something special, and I will but largely because everything I do is special because I'm the one doing. The little asian girl checking me out at the supermarket seemed to want to discuss my plans. I smiled my smile and moved on. Its funny how the short people take solace in each other. I suppose I'm one of them, but somehow I feel apart.