You must really like your life.  You must have some kind of passion for the things that make up your days.  Evenly-lit office suites.  Late model Chevy Aveos driven by the partially college-educated.  A cold sun.  The smells of burning carbons.

I know this because there are grocery stores in Hawaii.  It is not some impossible place, some Borneon jungle that lacks basic facilities and civilization.  In fact, Hawaii, from my understanding of it, is a lot like where you live.  It’s a state in the country you were (probably) born in.  There are plenty of little townships, small enough that any college educated, hardworking person would have no trouble living modestly, but large enough that there are legitimate grocery stores, places that sell toilet paper and maple syrup and olive oil.

If you didn’t love your life so damn much, you could move there tomorrow.  Lahaina.  Pahai.  They’re out there, smelling of chlorophyl and sea salt and an obsidian newness that your sands lack.

But you will not go.  You love your life too much.  Whatever you are doing, whoever you are with, you must treasure them enough to reject paradise.  You choose to buy your things at the Kroger down the road, the one near Super Wraps and SuperCuts and Hollywood Video and Lowes.  You love these more than volcano shadows.

But I don’t know why.

Browse Timeline

• « CHARLS
• » A losing Society

blog comments powered by Disqus