Seriously. If you don't know what time it is at the port you launched from and how many degrees from the horizon the north star is, you're not on a goddamn journey, you're on a goddamn diet.I don't understand why these obeasts constantly talk about their journey. They're not on a journey, they're not even on the road to nowhere, as that would imply some sort of movement. Public fats like amber reached their journey's end before they even started, and now they're parked up on cinder blocks, somewhere at the juncture of complaintville and excusetown.
A journey of a million miles begins with a single step, which is too much to ask of her charcot feet.