Birth of a Solipsist

I was on my lunch break one cold afternoon when I had life-changing realization. It hit me like a spoon that cracks an egg, and my yolk seemed to spill and fill up the world–indeed, become the world. I would apologize to you if you found my words confusing, but I don’t find them confusing myself, and in a moment you’ll see why I have no worries about being misunderstood.

As I was saying, I was on lunch break from the resturant. I had snatched a bottle of wine, without anyone seeing, and headed down the frigid street. It was the kind of cold outside that sucks the heat out of your bones, leaving you like a damp camp without fire. I immeadiately drew a steaming bath upon entering my apartment, and uncorked my merlot. I remember the television was on. It was reporting some news about a fire, or an earthquake, or maybe a robbery, I don’t know; I turned it off right away. I had found long ago that the less informed I was about the world the more happy I became.

So there I was: naked, submerged, warm, drinking wine from the bottle–it was the stolen bottle that I was thinking about. “Was it wrong for me to take this wine.” I asked myself. In my mind, I kept seeing the disapproving face of a particularly judgmental friend. Most of the wine was gone at this point and I was doubting very much that I’d be returning to the restaurant. And as my head swam in alcohol and my body turned red from the heat of the water, I suddenly realized that the face of my judgmental friend was not really there. It was all in my head. It was only me who was judging me. In fact, how could I be sure he was ever there?

I dipped my ears below the surface of the water and listened to the low rumbling of the world. This world is me, I thought to myself, feeling like a child once again.