After the medication I took last night, it’s remarkable that I wake up at all. I understand that you do not have to fast if you are ill, but I refuse to believe that I am that sick.
The combination of not eating, medication and congestion makes me feel like a blob. Like I am going to do today is blob around in pajamas and read.
I’ve been alternating between verses in the Quran and Jack Kerouac’s On the Road. They are rather antithetical to each other. The Quran in many ways, teaches us that life is fleeting state, a prison of sorts, a mere existence that only has meaning in relation to your faith. On the Road rejects any boundaries, set by any being. You would think life is as long as Route 66 and fugacious memories are defined by drunken nights in New York City or Denver or San Francisco. Nothing holds them back; Sal, Dean, Ed Dunkel. Not family, or faith, or funding nor food. It’s absolutely sensational and presses upon you to go on road trips or hitchhike or just walk with no end or goal in sight. You could not even call it travelling, it’s living here and there and nowhere in fact, because you want to and the only thing that could stop you is yourself. It’s terribly charming.