in addition to the fact that people just have different natural rhythms, a big reason why we can’t seem to go to bed as early as we “should” is that nighttime is, for many of us, our safest and most fulfilling time of day. we don’t have to work, we won’t be contacted by bosses or insurance companies or collection agencies or other suffocating life business… we’re likely only to be contacted by our friends, or by no one at all. night time is release; it’s ours. we can rest or recreate. we can do things we actually want to do. who would choose to cut that short?? just to usher in the next morning when our lives are not our own again? nighttime is precious and nothing could be more normal than the desire to embrace this
So, y’all remember that post that said animals in urban areas slowly became nocturnal to avoid encounters with humans? Apparently that includes humans.
me: i really dont get why non-floridians lose their fucking shit when they see a beach. it’s just sand and water. who gives a fuck
also me: *sees one (1) mountain* ohohohoohohohohoh holy SHIT holy fuck that’s a big fuCKING ROCK
i love this post. i have never related to anything less
me, grown up in the Cascades range: *sees open plains*
me: oohhoh no. no ba.d . where . are teh rocks. wheres the woter. oh god it’s just drit everywhere for a million miles I need TREES dammit where are my lumber guardians
Me, grew up in Nebraska, the Great Plains: *see a forest*
Me: wHy ar e there s.o man y trEes??? They all g.ott so BiG wher is th skY
Me: Grows up in Boston, mostly travels to cities and Central America: *travels to the Southwest*
Me: where is everyone? Where is everything? What great calamity flatten this world?
Me: Grows up in rural Australia, travels to Europe: Green? How so much green?? Paddocks aren’t green! Why is it full of green grass like a cartoon??
Me: Grew up in the American Midwest *arrives on the coastline of any ocean, sprinting up and down the beach very fast* SHARKS? SHARKS?SHARKS? SHARKS? SHARKS? SHARKS?
Bad News: Our boss locked the keys inside the building.
Good News: We didn’t have to wait around for a locksmith.
Bad News: My boss finds it very concerning that I know how to pick locks, and tried to unlock my Tragic Backstory™. I was too embarrassed to admit that the reason I learned was because, at thirteen, I figured that was the kind of skill that would impress cute girls.
Good News: A cute girl saw me do it.
Bad News: It was Maggie, and since she’s already seen me fall out of several trees, cry because I saw a fawn that was just too damn small, and knows I can ride a unicycle, she’ll never think I’m cool no matter what I do. It’s too late. She knows.
There are million dollar blockbuster movies that were less entertaining than the rollercoaster this post just took me on.
