If there are parallel universes, in one of them I'm pretty sure I am blond. Those are the so-called, good outcome universes.
In another I live in a slum outside Mumbai, breathing the toxic fumes as I melt down your old model cellphone for the precious metals inside.
In another, I died at eleven, from an asthma attack, instead of being saved (as I was in this one) by a neighbor who told my mother before she started CPR, "please don't sue me if this doesn't work."
In this universe I have two children. In another, perhaps ten, and we live on a farm, during the Dust Bowl, or I am an Orthodox Jew.
I'd like in one universe to be a good-looking 30 year old man, who is aware, but not arrogant about his looks.
The universe I'm really interested in is the one in which I'm not sick. I don't feel like I have the flu all the time, and muscle spasms in my face, one in which I don't feel like molasses. One in which, if I am sick, the doctors know what's wrong with me, and because this is a future universe there's an app for that.
I'm in an alpine field, rejoicing at all the little faces of the flowers.