I don’t usually question things.


Because usually, I’m sitting at home. Alone. With my dishwasher screaming in one room and my washing machine thundering in the other. With the sunlight blinding me and my chair binding me, I have no reason to leave my computer screen for “the great outdoors”– what’s so great about it anyway? Just another high-res screen-saver with movingClouds.gif? Oh, and the sun coincides with the time. That’s nice.


Worth it, anyway.

I can put on both headphones and be anywhere in the world, but when I step outside, I’m just there. There, on my front step, looking like a weirdo who spends time outside without cell service or WiFi within range.

So I stay inside. And I usually don’t question things. Because when you question, things get weird. Because Reddit answers and you realize that you never actually wanted the answer. You just wanted the question. You wanted the bewilderment and the excitement of the unknown as the question mark pops up on your screen is formulated in your head. And then expressed. Through air. In your mouth. Then caught by someone else’s ears. And then expressed. In their head. That’s it. That’s all you wanted. You didn’t actually want to know the mass of the sun; you just wanted to hear the words hang in the air for a moment and then disappear. Just like that. Just as you said them they are gone, like the split second after you throw water in the air, it’s suspended. It’s still. Still water. But you know it’s not because the next moment it’s gone, splashed on the floor or into your cup and you never see another shape just like it. Or another question just like it, that hangs in the air just like that one did, at that one moment. So I usually don’t question things.

I did today, though. I questioned the sun, of all things, but not its mass. No, I questioned its heat. How can something so far away burn me? I was even sitting on my chair, in my room, in my house, on my street, in my neighborhood, in my town, in my county, in my region, in my state, in my state-region, in my country, on my continent, on planet Earth, and yet, and still yet, like still water, the sun still burns me.

That was my question.

And I didn’t want the answer, honestly, I just wanted to feel how the words hung in the air, suspended by threads that spiders could only dream of spinning. And then it was gone. Like that. And I thought that was the end of it, but oh no. Curiosity caught me this time.

So I got up. Right out of my chair, I did. I said I wouldn’t but I had only gone and done it! Up past my wheezing washing machine, by my now-dozing dishwasher and out my front door. Like a weirdo. With no cell service. Or WiFi.

But I stood on my front step, on my house, on my street, in my neighborhood, in my town, in my county, in my region, in my state, in my state-region, in my country, on my continent, on planet Earth. And questioned the heat.

I raised my hand up, only realizing too late that I’m too far. Gone.

I open my palm and cover the sun, blocking my eyes from the damaging rays, or so Reddit says. I take a deep breath in.

I let a deep breath out.

And I usually don’t question things.