On August 21, 1987 I was hit with the curse of indifference. It was a humid night and I was in line at the Dairy Queen when I realized I didn't care what flavor I got. Since then, I've floated through life pretending to care. I've heard all the stories, jokes and anecdotes. Everyone reminds me of someone else. My experiences seem like a replay of things I've already gone through.
Even the temple of my body bores me.
For weeks I've been living with Tibetan monks, trying to find meaning in existence. That same fugue state of distraction has returned. They question me, not about spirituality, but about why Charlie Sheen left Two and a Half Men. I expected more.
Maybe I should return to the site of the Dairy Queen where it all began. But A Chic Filet now occupies it and who cares about chickens anymore?
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