I have this package of watermarked resume paper that I bought when I was so young that everyone I'd ever known in my life was still alive. I used a few of the pages immediately, enticed by their thickness and suggestion of importance.
Over the years I must have taken them a page or two at a time when circumstances could benefit.
I finished the final few pages of that package this past weekend, constructing a bible to protect us during our trials at Otakon '07.
And I thought to myself tonight, as I was throwing away the stray drawings still left in the box, that I could have never imagined the fate of those pages all those years ago when I thumbed through them, freshly purchased.
Isn't life intricately unpredictable?