Thousand: Nine Hundred Ninety

car, whispered conspiratorially, you’re convinced, hatching a plan to boost your Cadillac. This is the sort of entrée your mind serves up when your eyes are shut and your breathing steady and it’s dark and it’s only you in there, only you and your meaning-making mind which is ever working, ever fiddling. Maybe you just want to rest. But that’s not the way it works. You’re a meaning-making animal. Letting that go, taking your hand off the wheel of the relentless inner drive and shedding the fear that meaninglessness will hurt you, living instead in meaninglessness’s inscrutable purposes and fine