I wonder how I would react if suddenly the entire world’s population was twice as clever but I stayed the same. If I suddenly didn’t understand the jokes on television, new inventions, politics, music or magazines. At all. I could manage my life, but nothing above and beyond that. I wasn’t anymore stupid than the day before. I was just behind. In every possible way. Would it take away my ambitions? Would it take away the ever-present and crushing sense of guilt that I feel for not achieving enough? Would it make me lonely? More carefree? Happier?
According to my calculations, there is 22 years till Gandalf drops by and takes me on an adventure.
People who bring and eat carrots in libraries will be first against the wall when the revolution comes.
I wake up with a scream. But the pain linger. Like a deep, dull drum it continues well into the day and becomes its soundtrack.
You know that feeling when a piece of music stops you dead in your tracks and just just stand there with your mouth half open and a blank stare looking like a retarded victim of imaginary lightning? And then people walk by and look weirdly at you but you do not give two farts about their thoughts because they don’t understand anything.
Only during finals can you find clever young people staring interested and completely mesmerized at their neighbours screensaver for minutes on end. Then suddenly waking up, shaking their head randomly and sighing heavily.