It was still dark at 5:00 this morning, which suprised me. In memory, the sky brightens well before five–all the way from May through September. Here we are at the end of July, though, and the sky was barely light enough to make my way downstairs. Damn. I hate to give up the long days of summer so soon.

I also hate to admit that my memory is falliable.

How many decisions do I make based on experience? Almost all of them. Yet if I am misremembering something as easily verified as the sunrise, can I really trust myself to recall other events accurately? If so, how can I really base anything on such a flexible membrane as my memory?

Subjectively, I believe that I have a firm grasp on reality. Objectively, though, I wonder: If I don’t recall what really happened, does that mean I’m making it up? How will I know what’s true?

Is there even such a thing as truth?

With any luck, I’ll stop worrying about a simple hour or two of daylight. I’ll try not to get too wrapped up in the fact that there were long shadows outside when I thought birds would be singing. After all, if I’m making it all up, why would I have invented a day job? Or a world in which food has calories?

As a whole, I see the world for what it is: a beautiful mess.

And I swear that’s a true statement.