Chapter 9c
At length I find myself alone in the house. Where everybody else has gone is really no concern of mine. I don't know simply because I don't care to know. I know that I am alone and that's enough. Some aspects of this very long day still nag at me but I'm having difficulty caring again.
No, that's misleading. I'm having trouble committing myself to caring. I think that's more accurate. One side of me cares deeply and intensely. That side really does want to know what year it is, even if it is a stupid question, even if it can't be answered. That side wants to know because nothing makes sense without some basic information about the measurements of time and space.
The other side of me is much more pragmatic. The other side wants the first side to just chill the hell out and relax. Are things really as bad as you're making them, first side? Everything in my life is ultimately pretty good. Sure, I have the occasional rough spot, I've had to kill people I loved because they became monsters and been tortured by alien invaders, both internationally and cosmically, but life is good. I've got everything I need or want and there's always somebody to share my good fortune with when I want them. If it's not broken, first side, why fuck it up?
That's why I couldn't quite bring myself to give a shit. Still, it stayed with me. The whole time I sat alone in that big empty house the questions reeled through my mind as if they had answers. I really couldn't shake it.
The truth of the matter? As much as I hate to admit it, not making a choice remains to be making a choice. Choosing not to choose is oxymoronic. No matter how how much I resist and pull, the moment has come to decide. Do I sit and wait for fate to stumble upon me or do I charge and kick that Godless swine in the shins?
Then again, how does one challenge fate? That also borders on oxymoronic but falls just short, finishing as only moronic. Fate, by definition, is singular and predetermined. This allows room for any person to challenge it and no person to succeed. So do I sit or do I charge? Does it matter? Ducunt volentem fata, nolentem trahunt.
