82. reasonable hour
it's funny how being reasonable doesn't feel right. you know what i mean? to be a rational adult feels like giving up on the moment. like spotting the jacket hung on the street flea market and just taking it. running with it. after paying, of course. i mean, you could also try to run without paying, but you don't really know what's going to happen in broad daylight. i wouldn't recommend it.
but that's it, isn't it? we expect recommendations to be justified and logical. at least, i know i do. i expect the butcher or the bartender's selections to be crafted with care and thought, not just strewn from thin air on a moment's whim. and it makes sense to want to be treated that way -- you want to feel like you're being guided in the "right" direction.
yet a lot of the times, when someone asks you, "how was ____?" and waits for your response, we're just improvising. we're randomizing a selection from a pool of words and feelings and impressions that we've learned to group into a script. so we blurt something out. usually short. sometimes long. the yappers and the lurkers. the in between and the average. and that makes sense to respond that way too -- how weird would it be if someone takes 2 minutes to think in silence before saying "good" when asked how they're doing?
it's the irony of being reasonable. the irony of being an adult. it's just an outer coat. the outermost layer. i grew up in brisk autumns and cutting winters. i know what it's like to have layers. to take off your coat in the warmth of the restaurant and to put it back on with a scarf and gloves when you exit the door.
well, what i want to say most of all is this. i don't know if i like being reasonable. i also don't know if i like being crazy. i don't know.