Chrisonomicon

Friday, February 28, 2003

Head filled with the helium of coffee, body weighted with a leaden breakfast of McDonald's -- chagrin, after reading Fast Food Nation (this is the first time I've been able to bring myself to eat there since (not necessarily a bad thing, although it was rather tasty (damn them))) -- and speeding through the muddy streak of highway that bleeds through a white wintered track of land, I figure I could probably manage this drive under the proper circumstances: sufficient stimulants, good music, and the right state of mind. I'd sort of agreed to do it for six months if the option presents itself as a viable alternative to lease-breaking, if and when we decide to buy a house .

I've been thinking a lot about death lately. Maybe it's because I've been hooked on Six Feet Under the past few weeks (I'm glad you're watching it too), or the looming possibility of war, or having read J.R. Norton's The Smiling Archipelago, or the balding of my tires, or all of the above. It's not that I've been thinking of it in a bad way, no. Death isn't good or bad (well, nothing in the universe is good or bad, it just is). But, I mean, death as in: I wonder if I'll have a chance to look back once more or if it will be flash-bang sudden. Will I have a chance to contemplate it before it happens? Will I be scared? Will I be relieved? In a way, I'm sort of anxious to experience it, even though you can't really experience death the way you experience the taste of spicy food or the thrill of weightlessness on a theme-park ride, since death implies an end to experience. So, I naturally wonder what no experience feels like, which is a completely contradictory.

I think I should build a snow gun before spring hits.

And work is calling me out to Mexico next week, but I'm working on a new layout that should be done before I leave. I'd be interested in hearing your opinion.