Sanity, as a form of agreeing to
agree, is procrastination tourism. Sanity is never really comfortable as a home
base but always worth visiting for the reduction of excitement neutralized as
worth. Sanity is an over-achieving mirror that follows you around, giving
constant flashes of questioning self views while nodding a battery of yeses,
even before the questions are sensory then feedback. Sanity leaves you with no
one to ask, who is not going to play a sensibility card, in an “if it were me”
sort of protection style. Sanity is a deference position, guarding against
potential accusations while terminating further self inquires that consensual
reality could ostracize and debunk. Sanity is an etiquette for judgment
perspectives. Sanity is a form of self-confidence presumed, where by you feel
normalized but in an essentially unshared way. Sanity does not really have an
eye closely on the prize but more so, has the intentions to not loudly fart on
the bus. If sanity were a snowfall, we would all be compassionate, with care as
our means. But, instead, we name our shovels in the way we classify our
wardrobe and over-grip the handles of our anointed tasks. Sanity is a
meaningful pretend as much as our driver licenses validate our journeys through
life. Which leads me to ask, why did sanity cross the road?
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