Walking down Oxford Street, I piped up -
Do you know what you’re going to do for the rest of your life?
[one of the best displays of spontaneous laughter I’ve heard in a while]
No, really. Things aren’t as linear as they used to be. You can get married and have a career at twenty, and then become a starving artist and a hippie at thirty or forty. Nothing is necessarily consistent.
Is this about me, or are you asking in general? [pause] I think I’d like to keep doing what I’m doing, while also pursuing an artistic outlet.
Same here! Which is why I’m so freaked about what happened today. It was such a little thing, but I can’t stop worrying about it. I feel as though I’ve ruined any chance I had with these people. It feels silly always worrying about little things.
I sort of envy that. I have a tendency to worry about the ‘big things’.
Like, world hunger?
No, bigger than that.
I was reading an article about the multiverse, the idea that there are an infinite number of possible worlds, all occurring simultaneously. And this is a proper scientific theory. I remember sitting at my desk and not really doing any work, just thinking about this for half an hour.
Well, that can be comforting. No matter what choice you make, other possible choices you could have made are happening elsewhere. So it doesn’t really matter what you do.
Comforting? Maybe. Also pretty overwhelming. And potentially frightening.
[and then suddenly the pavement grew scales like a giant dragon’s tail and began to hiss with steam through the cracks in the cement turning soft and forest green, lifting us up and whipping us between buildings like a table tennis ball almost consistently in flight; the impact cracked our backs, relieved all tension, and lifted us higher until suddenly gravity wasn’t a concern; wrapped tight with snakeskin, punctured with lamp post spikes, we floated over the city of pulsating stained glass shafts and inhaled the spiced texture of dusk]