There used to just be milk. It was white. It came in a glass bottle, or a waxed cardboard carton. That was what you got, and you either take it or leave it.
I think about that fact while staring at a wall of milk varieties in the(more) supermarket. Items that used to stand on their own as single entities are now categories, and contain multitudes.
I should appreciate the bounty. But this bothers me, somehow.
I think it's because I feel like we're being tricked. The world provides us with the illusion of great breadth, but really we're just slicing the same few component categories into finer and finer parts.
Next aisle over: jams, jellies, preserves, marmalades, compotes. About fifty of them. No help there.
I wonder if the frumpled man in line ahead of me at the hot food buffet thinks about these things. I try to make a whole person of him in my mind, but I can't. He doesn't look like he even buys groceries.
He feels like a character meant for another story who got lost in this one. In fact, he doesn't seem to know what he's doing here, either. He pokes at the chicken curry for a little while, despite not having a self-serve container to put any food in, before wandering off to parts unknown.
It's about then that I start to hear the susurrus in the back of my mind. I start to wonder if I forgot to take my meds today, or if this is just what the world feels like now.
The words "dark acceleration" solidify themselves in my brain. I don't know what they mean.
I pay, slink back to my car, drive home, and try not to think about tomorrow.