A Series of Unrelated Observations

The water from the pump is as yellow as the grass surrounding me. The chicken in the rotisserie hiccups as gas escapes its succulent, lifeless corpse. Life is a collection of unrelated observations. It may appear to have thematic significance, however, that is simply the result of our attempts to attach meaning to meaningless information.

I had a dream last night in which I suffered a case of mistaken identity. The traveling mime troupe explains that it is I who has mistaken my identity. One of the silent performers turns out to be Justin, and I am a nameless stand-in. I apologize for any inconvenience and sit down, attempting to remember my correct identity. Eventually I give up and create a new one, but it turns out that the new identity is also taken by a mime.

Confused, I glance at the world surrounding me and observe that I am in a warehouse as large as a major metropolitan mall. It is crammed with a mixture of gray tubes and stairs, all angles, asymmetry, and alliteration. There is a community on the floor that I am sitting on that is substantial enough to sustain a mime troupe. Also, a village of upside-down people dwells directly under the ceiling, in direct violation of gravitational laws. The hot chick from work resides up there. The mime beside me says that everyone is happier up there, but I don’t believe him. His skewed perception identifies smiles when in fact all they do is frown.

I find myself at Wal-mart in the wee hours of the morning often this week. The consumerism distracts my insomnia. I stare at the daunting aisle of orange juices. Several fruit fusions are available, as well as tangy original. The tangy original is tangier than the original I remember and the fusions are interspecies anomalies that call themselves orange juice. There is also a reduced sugar variety. I grow nostalgic for the mid-nineties. What ever happened to the sugar-fortified Sunny-D I remember from my childhood? I settle on mango.