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The peculiar, spontaneous suspicion that maybe the world is an illusion... That all the people and places and things that surround you are merely fantasy... That life is just a dream, and the manner you must go about to awake from it is a thing totally inscrutable...
Does everyone experience this at some point in their life? Naively, I once thought so. But not anymore. I have met sports fans, department store shoppers, hipsters, foodies, deadbeats, clotheshorses, public sector employees, activists, and others similarly one-dimensional but less easily categorized folks for whom I suspect pondering the nature of reality is just a big bore.
Or perhaps that's just the unalterable nature of these shallow characters in this dream in which I'm imagining that I'm writing this.