On the radio today, I heard someone explain how the atmosphere is a chaotic system meant to produce abnormalities. Which seemed heartbreakingly perfect somehow, because the atmosphere is so basic, necessary for existence, and it gets forever permission to do its thing.

There’s this tendency towards disorder when you share a space. One person leaves a sock on the floor, another hangs a bra between two chairs to dry, and each spare object becomes a whole galaxy. All 550 square feet of your place turns towards some strange, corkscrewed constellation. And it’s almost too beautiful to straighten up, because all of a sudden you figure out it was supposed to be that way in the first place.