When you get in a daze on the N/R platform at Union Square and take the N instead of the R (local) and don’t realize it until you’re going over the bridge to Brooklyn, and then because the R doesn’t go from Brooklyn to Manhattan right now, you have to take the N all the way to Canal and walk five minutes to find the R and then take that back down to Whitehall Street. And then explain it to your boss when they wonder why you’re late.
And I suppose nowadys neither “I was drunk” or “I was sober” counts for shit as an excuse in journalism. Me, I have had some limited success with “They changed my meds last week and my sense of time is off.”
“We suffocate among people who think they are absolutely right, whether in their machines or in their ideas. And for all who can live only in an atmosphere of human dialogue and sociability, this silence is the end of the world.”—Albert Camus, “Neither Victims nor Executioners” (via adorno-und-austerlitz)