June 11, 2009

walking with a ghost

Adrian and I had a serious discussion last night about how he does not exist.
These are the reasonings that defy logic, realism and the laws or probably impossibility:

1. He is ALWAYS chipper. Even when he's pissed.
2. He does everything he says he's going to do and he does it now and never half-asses.
3. He works hard but not because he's avoiding dealing with something else.
4. He makes time for work, friends, and family, maximizing all hours of the day/night.

I came to the conclusion that such a person cannot exist because people are never that positive, hardworking, talented, passionate, and not an asshole. People just aren't that way.
So therefore he is probably an alien. A sleep-deprived alien who flourishes on sleep deprivation. Not the gross kind, the TV glam kind like on Smallville and Kyle XY. He does have a belly button though. And I have seen him bleed.

And then I wondered, so who then gave me that fat wad of cash for his portion of the rent last week? Where did that money come from? Who painted pretty much the entire apartment? Mysterioes.

One could argue that I don't exist just as much as he doesn't exist, but that would just be kind of conceited. And I don't think all that true.

Sometimes I feel that I don't exist, but that's only because a whole day will go by where I don't talk to anybody or nobody attempts to contact me in any way and I am saddened by this and feel slightly neglected. But then I figure that any day in which I earn money/spend money, is a day that I must exist, otherwise how do I keep getting poorer? I mean, seriously.

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