I think maybe it's not just that meaning is relative but that relative meaning can be ascribed in any amount at whatever level of life's magnification you're zoomed in on. So if it's a child's birth or the opening of a can of soda, a feeling of value can be experienced, savored, noted, soliloquized, whatever, if conditions are right for that. This impression was strong under psychedelics, if not very admirable, when I would say, believe sincerely that the opening screen of Zelda where you name your character, was some sort of universal cipher, or when I was worse than absent from a baby shower for my son, because I was engrossed in the idea of emotions being a physical thing... I could go on... So the sensitivity to meaning was maybe turned up a bit high, but still I find it comforting when struggling to feel much of anything, that those impressions can indeed be felt within any moment, any object, any incident. And the non-specificity of the catalysts, rather than leading me to nihilism, suggests to me that the universe can in fact be the scent of bitter almonds, or whatever poetic/mundane/astronomical thing.

My sister and I have bonded over running. She's a real runner and I'm someone in his thirties who is acknowledging that he's been overweight for a decade and needs to move more. She asks me often if I like running, I think hoping that my answer will change. This morning, the answer was something like 'I'm starting to, yeah'

She got a look that was far more wistful than she usually allows herself, and said 'I've always liked it. Do you ever feel like running really really far? Like, running while the sky changes over you, day to night?'

I don't believe in records any more. The vinyl, music-playing variety. I can see that they work, and I have read the explanations of why they work, but I do not believe that they should work. And probably I'd feel the same way about electricity or most things that Edison dabbled in, but I'm more comfortable expressing heresy in the audio realm. I don't care how elaborate those squiggles are on that live Don McLean album, they should not be able to make a sound wave at all recognizable as originating from lungs, a mouth, a wood guitar, a harmonica. And having decided this, I wonder what else we have agreed to overlook and accept as real, in this group hallucination. And do I care? Should I care? Should I tell someone? Do they already know?