Life as a controlled implosion

The only time I really think hard about things is when I'm unhappy.

That's because when I'm in a state of "flow" thought is beside the point.

That being the case it's not often these days that I really think hard about things.

But yesterday, as I drove down to Richmond around 7 a.m. to deliver anesthesia for the day, I got to considering how it is that reality comes to be.

And a new idea occurred to me.

Namely, that all possible realities collide as if in a supercollider and annihilate each other, leaving as a residue what each of us then experiences as a 30-frames-per-second apparent life.

Which, if you do the math, means you get 30 frames x 60 seconds/minute = 1,800 frames a minute x 60 minutes/hour = 108,000 frames an hour x 168 hours/week = 18,144,000 frames/week x 52 weeks/year = 943,488,000 frames/year.

Multiply that number (call it a billion, it's close enough) x the years you've been alive and that's how many implosions you've been party too.

And you thought you lived a quiet life.