Insanity, Welcome

            Roughly, the sun travels at 250 km/s. Hurtling through space, at this impossible speed, the sun drags the solar system with it. The orbit around the Milky Way, a more cosmic year, takes around 225 million years. The earth then, is the content age of 20, having whipped around the galaxy that many times – and for having so recently left its teenage years, it has accomplished a fair amount. Perhaps, it believes there is a period of roaring twenties ahead.  

            Relatively banal cosmological facts, Mikel thought, were enough to drive a sane person to insanity. He considered the only saving grace was in the reverse logic, that it might be enough for an insane person to be driven to sanity. If someone thought that a sun, something so hideously big, ought to be traveling anywhere at 250 km/s, let alone that being its regular walking pace, then surely that person would have to be insane. On the other hand, if one were to be driven slowly, but inextricably insane by the idea, then that ought to be a rather sane response. His toaster dinged and his toast popped up. The problem, Mikel knew – and it was the obvious one – was the following: could an insane person’s logic be trusted, and if only a sane person’s logic could be trusted, how could he be sure he hadn’t already gone insane? He ate his toast without butter, or anything else, which he also knew, did not help his case for sanity. In fact, he did not think anything could be more condemning, but he also knew that thinking a single thing had such importance already seemed like the thoughts of someone who was swimming comfortably in the waters of insanity – but then, recognizing this had to be some saving grace, a point for sanity. He ate his plain toast.

            Relative to the earth, who was enjoying its prime years now, he reckoned a human on the same scale lives for a fraction (of a fraction, of a fraction, of likely many more fractions) of a second. Which he thought was rather unfair. Even the pitiable insects, the unfortunately terminal flies or bugs of this earth, could summon the energy to live for a few days, or even a week by earth-years. But really, in a cosmic year, each life enjoyed little more than any other, such an incomprehensible and insignificant difference. All life equalized to the pitiable insects of the cosmos.

            His wife came home as he was finishing his toast. They had been together for many fractions of a second. She asked what he had been doing, and he answered that he had been eating toast. She asked if he had been thinking anything, and he said, no, nothing at all. She seemed content with this, and thinking about it himself, it was true, he had been thinking about nothing, not really, and he reckoned that there was little mark higher, in regard to sanity, than thinking nothing at all.