Say whut?

A dear friend asks me at 7am, on my 17th hour of being awake, if I believe that this world is just a "made up" place. I got hit by a ginormous tide of blended theories and isms, I only managed to ask if she just smoked a joint. And wondered if she is a product of my imagination too.

The mind is such a vulnerable force. Now I just want to sit still and consume, and be consumed by, everything that I'm seeing, feeling and hearing. The elusive Senses Buffet just opened and I would love to please start with bittersweet dessert. Please?

But you know the only thing that's real for me in this supposedly ungodly hour? Lunch will not cook itself. So let me put a tiny dot at the end of this sentence before I imagine that this day is done and it's time for bed.