3.23

I need time to process white noise. Sometimes, I sit and stare at fans and lightbulbs, trying to understand which vibration, exactly, is making the burr-like softness of a tonal hiss I like to call white. And what use is it to me that I can understand exactly that noise? Why do I take the time to examine fuzzy minutia? None. I gain nothing. I just lose time. More clock-defined seconds than you could find in a single day; these I swallow with my obsession. I spend my whole waking experience trying so despondently to fathom a useless phenomenon. I gain nothing.