Time Is Fluid, Much Like Water Is Fluid

I am writing my first blog post since July. One might wonder why there is such a large gap between my posts. Then again, one might also wonder how they ended up reading some obscure blog on the Internet. I myself wonder if Rod Serling smelled like cigarettes and plot twists. If all of this wondering was in the form of a question, the answer would almost certainly be that Jesse Doctor is an important man with a bustling social life and many tasks that need doing, and he alone can accomplish them, for he is magnificent. That entire sentence, however, is false, but I enjoyed writing it.

That’s right: I have had a great deal of spare time, and my only friends are exclusively people who think too much about the various scents of Rod Serling, namely myself and my cat. I have spent these past months inching towards college graduation, writing about the urination schedule of the imprisoned Toussaint L’Ouverture, and staring at a wall. The wall I speak of is blank and white, and I often think I hear voices coming from it or figures moving within it. My cat, Skywalker, sometimes stares at it with me until he calmly states, “Enough wall-staring; there is little time for you to enact my vengeance upon the framing section of Hobby Lobby,” but the violent acts which my cat commands me to do are another blog post entirely.

So, I leave this post knowing that I may not write another for quite awhile, and also knowing that it is entirely possible that I may soon write another. I originally planned to write about something important, such as Israel using a fistful of Ginsu knives to unnecessarily slap an obnoxious child, or Barack Obama moving into a house which an obnoxious child formerly used as a fort from which he shot spitballs of disaster at everyone, or how my poorly conceived metaphors for current events reflect my disdain for obnoxious children and proper metaphor construction.

But do those things have anything to do with nostrils whiffing Rod Serling?

I think not.