Semi-Daily Scribbles

Lynda's best friend Marnie told her that thing about the tunnel and the light at the end of it. Where the light isn't the illusion. The tunnel is. Lynda grappled with that one during the lunch break when she should have eaten her sandwich instead. It wasn't so much Lynda didn't understand what was/wasn't an illusion, or why it even mattered. She was just used to tunnels being necessary passageways to get from one place to the next, be it from town to town, or one state of mind to another. Consciousness seemed more like the illusion to Lynda, not light, or the opposite of light, or the conduit connecting everything. Lynda's gut told her she was on the right track (although it was most likely hunger and/or low blood sugar.) She just hoped she wouldn't be put on the spot to make a cogent argument on the subject when she so flagrantly disregarded the importance of feeding her brain with midday carbs and protein.