Is this reality? Or is this the story? It’s hard to tell. The more I create, the more I feel like the created is becoming the creator. It seems that, at least for now, I am more interested in living a life that may or may not actually exist.
You know what I find interesting? People in books rarely have to clean their houses. This seems relatively unfair. It also seems unfair that fish don’t have to clean their tanks and that dogs don’t have to put their toys away.
If I could only live in a fantasy forever, I would not have to do housework. Alas, my life is real, and I do exist… I think (although, there does seem to be an astonishing lack of proof). Therefore, I must go make a bottle for my son, and then clean my living room, dining room, kitchen, and bathroom. I should also probably do some laundry. Sigh, reality bites.