We’re all riding shotgun with Entropy.

That’s the long of it, the short of it. Celebrated the Fourth of July twice this weekend. Once at a friend’s apartment, who I consider to be family. Once at my family’s house, who I consider to be friends.

Me, my friends, my family?

We’re all riding shotgun with entropy.

The Universe wasn’t paying much attention to our celebrations. Too busy housing Everything. Too busy searching for that sweet, sugary Heat Death at the end of it all. Expanding endlessly until it won’t.

Me, my friends, my family, the Universe?

We’re all riding shotgun with entropy.

The wife I married, the dog I love, the friends I cherish, the family I belong to, the Universe that carries me.

We’re all here until we’re not.

We’re all riding shotgun with entropy.

I don’t know what to make of this, other than to appreciate my wife, walk my dog, hang out with my friends, and stare lovingly at the stars when the nights permit. This isn’t profundity and it isn’t resignation.

It’s a shrug and a smile in the face of the Absurd. What else can I do?

We’re all riding shotgun with entropy.

This is Monday Morning Commute. The column where I slather onto this particular digi–space all the items, all the miscellany, all the bullshit that I’m interfacing with on a given week. You know, when I’m not staring into the raging chasm of Void and Stars, condemning the tragic mistake that is self-awareness, while simultaneously praising the Cosmic Joke for stumbling into giving us clowns self-awareness.

It is my optimistic encouragement that you’ll share what you’re up to this week in the comments section.

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