oh, the things we take for granted. i eat chili out of a can, and i could tell you where not a single of its ingredients came from, or where they were processed, or even how long that can has been sitting on my shelf. i don't know where my non-stick pot was made, or how it is made non-stick, or by what method the electricity is made that heats my stove. i don't know where or how the metal was mined to make it, how it knows to turn to 350? and stop, or how long it has been in this house. i don't know when the house was built, or who designed it, or whether behind the plaster lurks cinderblock, brick, or stone. i don't know when the third story was added to the rest, or if all the houses on the block rose at the same time or singly. i don't know what kinds of trees stood here before my house, or what kind of trees were felled to build it. i know that my water comes from the schuylkill and the delaware, but i don't know where it is treated, or what my pipes are made of, or how the water is forced from river to toilet and back. i don't know what fish would be swimming there if our filth hadn't killed them. i don't know how to make pickles or mayonnaise or glass jars, couldn't sew a simple shirt unless my life depended on it, and even then the seam probably wouldn't hold. i don't know how to start a fire without kerosene and matches both. i can't skin anything, or even it seems get a tomato plant to grow in the sun. i wouldn't be able to find my way out of anywhere by following the shadows or the stars or the moss on a tree.

how can i be twenty years old in the richest country in the world, and still be completely and utterly helpless?