One is never aware of their own mental collapse. Although appearing sharply to the outside, it creeps in, drips in really, under the door, into the mind of the afflicted over years. Decades even.

You don’t notice you’ve been wearing the same beige pants for 16 consecutive weeks. The TV dinners all have the same names, but the food keeps switching compartments. You’re certain your teeth each have names, but what are they?

One day you wake up and realize you’re very close to the center of the insanity, with the shovel in your hand and the dirt piled up to the sky and you find it odd that you haven’t even broken a sweat.

Chris Weagel

Chris Weagel writes about the intersection of technology and parenting for Wired Magazine. No he doesn't. He can't stand that shit.

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