Ever question the point of existence? Today, alone in the billions of ponderings amongst the endless Comanche National Grassland, I did. As I stood, the so-called earth beneath my feet could've been a bald spot on a cosmic cue ball for all I cared.
The good ol' grassland, more remote than a love seat on Valentine’s Day, whispered secrets of solitude to me. Somewhere between that whisper and the sorrowful sky turning from “sappy poem gray” to “apocalypse now cobalt”, I almost appreciated life. Almost.
Then, as if ordered straight from a cheap sci-fi flick, a pronghorn darted by. But wait—this speedy fellow wasn’t just any creature. Given its unrealistic velocity and bizarre joy, personal theory: it's a zombie pronghorn, likely a mutant cousin of giraffes. I mean, why not?
Grabbed my camera but poof! The critter was history, like my sense of purpose. Back to solitude, which is like diet brand loneliness: lighter flavor, equally depressing.
In conclusion, if you're pondering a trip to explore the enormous nothingness, maybe don't. Or go, and perhaps find a zombie giraffe for company. At least you won’t die alone—although, statistically, chances are you will.
Based on the original article "Chasing Solitude, and Dinosaurs, in Comanche National Grassland".
