they’re crowding up the air with words they cannot know(I Believe in Everything // Matchbox Twenty)
Arthur Dent never could get the hang of Thursdays, and I wish it weren’t Wednesday, and, if I remember correctly, pop music informed us that it’s always just another manic Monday–so, what I’m saying is, we have Tuesday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday left. But I’m not too sure about those either.
Right, because Freaky Friday. We are rapidly running out of days that aren’t marred.
See, I’m pretty sure everything is marred. That’s what being a human is. It’s being marred. So it doesn’t make sense, really, to expect humans to be anything otherwise. Humans are imperfect and sad. Unfortunately, I do believe that I frequently do expect people to be perfect. Suspecting that perhaps we all fall into this trap, I have also determined that this is yet another human imperfection–the mere expectation of perfection.
I threw my spoon into the sink and shouted to the window, and no one answered. I watched part of a documentary. I sipped a Sunkist. I am still sipping said Sunkist.
Sunkist tastes awful, by the way.
Now I want to know; does anyone here actually like the way carbonated beverages taste? Like, do you really love it? Or do you just vaguely crave the caffeine, sugar, and weird burn in the back of your throat?
*drinks the Sunkist anyway*