Sometimes I stare up at the sky and think to myself. I know it’s dangerous, but it’s a surprisingly nice way to spend time. Just find a nice hill with a gentle slope, go a decent distance from any other people, and just lay there. The fact that you can look at the sky for a lifetime and not even seen the edges baffles me. Like, if there’s so many people, but an infinite amount of sky for each person, there’s more than seven billion infinities of sky…

I have no clue what that last thought was.

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In all seriousness, how big is the sky really? Scientists know it’s really big, but compared to an ant, a ham sandwich is massive. Unless it’s a really sad ham sandwich. If the sun is the size of a million earths, and we can fit an infinite amount of-

Nope. Not doing that again.

I empathize with ants. The world dwarfs them in size and they can only rely on themselves and their colony to survive. There’s like three things lower on the food chain and none of them are edible. I feel like nothing I do will matter even if it’s impressive. Although I guess surviving this long says something. Maybe I’m less like an ant than I thought.

I’m more like a cockroach.