A friend once told me that he preferred the moon, because compared with the sun, the moon was far more noble. He asked me if I agreed.
I told him that maybe, but I’d rather just get rich and buy distant relatives fine china for wedding presents, that I saw a set of Waterford crystal wise men that my second cousin would just die for. All three of them, I said.
He told me about wars and genocide and the environment and shouldn’t I spend my money on that. This was after I just ordered hot water at the café down the street from the market where, every week, I buy a whole organic local chicken for my dog. My friend sipped his macchiato and I said that I dunno, it’s easier to get up on sunny days rather than rainy ones, much less moony one. Had he ever been to Alaska? They sure must have some noble winters in Alaska.
He told me he saw a documentary about how Alaskan farmed salmon is getting into the indigenous population. That’s the word he used, indigenous. It’s fucked up, he told me.
I said that yeah, it’s fucked up because I didn’t want to tell him that I did agree, it was more noble, that it was easier to be awake when no one else was, if for no other reason than the fact that you would be asleep when they would later be awake, that maybe there was something noble in that. At night, no wars are declared, no races extinguished, no forests cut down, nope, not on my watch. I wanted to tell him that it’s only when the sun comes out that everything goes to shit. And it’s not escapism, I’d say, it is noble, but I didn’t and I just drank my hot water and instead told him how tired I suddenly got.