Second trip to the photocopier, this time the one in the back room that collates and staples. I'm waiting for someone else to finish. I scan the memos about health benefits and the like on the bulletin board in the hall, find one of those humorous or inspirational or heart-warming quotes that typically appear on workplace bulletin boards and cubicle partitions:

Reality is that which when you stop believing in it doesn't go away.

- Philip K. Dick

It's a nice definition. But I'm not sure it solves anything. I stopped believing in George W. Bush a long time ago, but he's still here. Santa too.

As long as someone still believes, belief is our reality.

Not to mention that we would still be dealing with the consequences of belief even if everyone did stop.

The trees would still be cut down. The craters would still stud the Iraqi landscape. Minute Maid Field would still remind us of Enron. And lots and lots of people would have boxes full of St. Nick iconography in their attics.

Reality is made of belief.

Fiction has the power to make us cry.

If you drink enough, you might not notice that you just bumped your head on a metal filing cabinet or ran down an old man in the crosswalk.

We all need to eat. We all need to sleep. We've all got a space to fill.

Tags: prose, ramble
Mode: hating my office phone
Muse: Darami - Ronnie Nyogetsu Seldin - Heart Of Zen