The Eleventh Flower of the Orange

I set the TV alarm at random intervals, this time I was awaken by a Hispanic news anchor, but she kinda sounded like she might have been from Alabama. It didn’t matter. I was awake, and I could allow the day to begin. I am a man who enjoys the purchasing of raw land, I buy it, never knowing what land is the best, by throwing a dart at a gigantic map of the US of A. The problem is that the law of averages tells me if I own specific pieces of land, my life expectancy may decline rapidly.

The thing about the law of averages that has me spellbound may not be that it is always correct, but that it sometimes is not. Well sure I suppose you can say when adding all humans in the world it sort of works itself out, however, there is still a great chance of rolling a three every time you roll the dice. Now there is a five percent chance that I could live for eight more years, however, during these eight years if I buy land in Arizona or New York that percentage drops to a measly two point nine. I can not have this. Yet I still throw the dart.

These averages have helped me live a very long, be it paranoid, lifestyle. So I have no intention of abandoning them now. I’ve learned to manipulate them, I do not smoke on a regular basis because the average everyday smoker usually dies before the non-smoker. However, I smoke every now and again, because every now and again a smoker out lives the non smoker. I believe I have conquered the system.

In a time before God and History I suppose they also had these numbers crammed into their heads. Animals most likely have the numbers in mind. How else could one explain why they are dramatically better than you and I? Flowers of orange trees have their numbers in keeping the oranges alive, they keep themselves alive. But who is my flower? I will tell you who. My flower is the beautiful laws of probability. I know exactly how long I should keep writing to maintain the average life-span, if I write a certain amount of words there is a better chance that I will die, than if I write another amount of words. So I give myself the nudge on the back for a job well done. However, I shall never reward myself for these efforts, though I do take great joy in the knowledge that statistically I was extraordinary.

The Eleventh Flower of the Orange By Collin Borell

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