reality

In my dorm sophomore year, I remember a brief conversation with a good friend who stopped near my door as he walked down the hallway.

He furrowed his brow at some distantly internal thoughts and said something about questioning the existence of reality.

I've thought about that, I said, and, I don't really know, but I figure in the end there is something that I have to deal with.

That's my reality. The actions I take and the consequences they have. I see myself constantly handling a choose-your-own-adventure of consequences, whether or not those consequences can be said to 'exist' in some sense or another. They exist in the sense that I deal with them when they come.

hmm. he hummed, then nodded sharply as though momentarily satisfied, unfurrowed his eyebrows some, and proceeded down the hallway.