Everything and nothing

Alex Ogden

Sometimes I like to think about the “everythingness” of the vast nothing that is the observable universe. How many stars are in our tiny section of the universe alone that we can’t even see. How many star systems are so far away from us yet don’t even leave this galaxy. How many galaxies there are. There is so much packed in the petri dish we call the observable universe that it is amazing that anyone ever thought we were alone. Sometimes I like to think about the “nothingness” of everything on an atomic scale. Most of what makes up my body, for instance, is just empty space. Miles between electrons, galaxies between atoms. Who’s to say that our universe isn’t one incredibly large body? Or that we aren’t incredibly small subatomic particles? Only our own perception of our existence dictates the experiences we have and thus our reality. I like to think about everything and nothing because when I do suddenly my reality is too small to worry about and too large to comprehend and all of my troubles fade into irrelevance. Or at least, that’s the idea. Some problems are too immediate to really go away completely. Like right now, for instance, I seem to have this, quite pressing, matter of a knife in my intestines. Luckily the boy had left the groceries behind, although I can’t imagine Anna will have any desire to eat them now what with the blood that’s pooling around the bag. It’s a shame about the gummy bears though. Hopefully seeing them will be enough. I don’t want to… to… I don’t want her thinking that I wasn’t going to apologize after this morning. She was right, in the end. I was just scared. I don’t want her to have to take care of herself… that’s going to be her reality now. Hopefully I taught her well enough that she knows to run after I don’t come home. Cops are gonna start looking. Don’t want… CPS… mom… she can’t go back. Please see the gummy bears please, please…

 

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