A thought, like a little flag unfurled, snapping in the wind: is death really the end? No, not that ever-present and utterly unhelpful thought, but the thought that asks if my success in school is just a textbook example of extreme, unhealthy adaptation. I have molded myself to fit my degree program. Or have I? Maybe this is an unimportant question, or not even a question at all as I am still sick, and spent a restless night in a fever dream linking and unlinking hypertext on a web page. That is what I get for falling asleep while reading a book on PHP. Not Tolstoy, or Hemingway or fading wunderkind Foster Wallace, but the QuickStart Guide to PHP. All of life’s great themes can be found in the scripting languages.
Despite feeling ill and generally uninterested in even going outside at all, I am going to force myself to go to yoga. I can always just nap on my mat. Besides, I have been dying to break in these new leotards.