Lying in bed on my back in the dark, my head cradled by a brilliant invention called "memory foam." The ceiling is cracked. The paint is peeling. I don't have to see it to know. My sun, warm, kind and good, is shining on a side of the planet I can't feel. Trees fall in the forest. Their brittle wood cracks, creaking, and popping, then crashing down amidst dried leaves and beetles. They pound the earth like the feet of giants - all without needing me to hear. Quantum physics is wrong; the universe spins quite happily on its own. It doesn't need me to observe.