Be loving, be kind
And follow the ways of goodness.
Committed, and longing for the goal,
Always keep going with courage.
To dally and delay will not help you.
But to be ardent is sure and safe.
When you see it, cultivate the path,
So you will touch and make your own
The Deathless Way.
-Psalms of the Early Buddhists
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Friday, March 30, 2007
There's a Hole in the Bucket
There's a hole in the bucket,
Dear Liza, dear Liza,
Then mend it, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, mend it.
With what shall I mend it,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
With a straw, then, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, with a straw.
If the straw is too long,
Then, dear Liza, dear Liza?
Then cut it, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, cut it.
With what shall I cut it,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
With a knife, then, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, with a knife.
If the knife is too dull, then,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
Then sharpen it, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, sharpen it.
With what shall I sharpen it,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
With a whetstone, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, with a stone.
If the stone be too dry, then,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
Then wet it, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, wet it.
With what shall I wet it,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
With water, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, with water.
How shall I fetch it,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
In a bucket, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, in a bucket.
There's a hole in the bucket,
Dear Liza, dear Liza,
Then mend it, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, mend it.
This song demonstrates futility in such a happy way.
Dear Liza, dear Liza,
Then mend it, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, mend it.
With what shall I mend it,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
With a straw, then, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, with a straw.
If the straw is too long,
Then, dear Liza, dear Liza?
Then cut it, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, cut it.
With what shall I cut it,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
With a knife, then, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, with a knife.
If the knife is too dull, then,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
Then sharpen it, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, sharpen it.
With what shall I sharpen it,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
With a whetstone, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, with a stone.
If the stone be too dry, then,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
Then wet it, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, wet it.
With what shall I wet it,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
With water, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, with water.
How shall I fetch it,
Dear Liza, dear Liza?
In a bucket, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, in a bucket.
There's a hole in the bucket,
Dear Liza, dear Liza,
Then mend it, dear Henry,
Dear Henry, mend it.
This song demonstrates futility in such a happy way.
Idle Questions to be read out loud
Who do I hold to some higher level of expectation? Who do I hold accountable for each syllable they let fall from their mouth?
On the other hand, who exists near and dear to my heart because I am somehow able to explain their faults? Who is it allowed to prick my sense of self-importance reaping the reward of my laughter and not my anger in the form of a defensive response?
Whose words do I listen to, perhaps consider changing my stance for, and whose words are assumed to belong to someone who just doesn't understand?
Personal choices based on what process of elimination? What motivates those choices? What fires are fueled by them?
What is gained? What is lost?
On the other hand, who exists near and dear to my heart because I am somehow able to explain their faults? Who is it allowed to prick my sense of self-importance reaping the reward of my laughter and not my anger in the form of a defensive response?
Whose words do I listen to, perhaps consider changing my stance for, and whose words are assumed to belong to someone who just doesn't understand?
Personal choices based on what process of elimination? What motivates those choices? What fires are fueled by them?
What is gained? What is lost?
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Evolution vs. Creationism
Okay, I admit it... this is a recent bug I have had. Ever since starting to read Greg Laden's Blog I have become accutely aware of the dividing line between folks who believe in creationism and those who believe in evolution.
My religious views can be found rather easily within the blatherings of my blog, but just in case it isn't as apparent as I might think... I don't like religion. But I have great faith. I have little faith in translations scribed by humans, let's face it, most if not all humans have agendas no matter how pure or free of human urges they (or others) perceive themselves to be.
I have asked this question of others, infact, I just shot off an inquiry to the folks at http://www.christiananswers.net/ - Keep in mind I am not trying to be combative, I truly believe there is peace to be found here.
Here is the note I sent to ChristianAnswers.net (and you, should you deem it worthy of responding too):
I am very curious as to the reasons that the process of evolution can not be used as a means of explaining the logistics of "how" God's creations came to be.
In an attempt to imagine what a measure of a day would be in an infinite lifespan, why can't evolution be a mile-stone mapping of the process of creation?
If we accepted evolution and archealogical finds as snapshots of God's process of creation, would we think any less of God's immense powers?
It seems to me that evolution has the capacity to be an elegant answer as opposed to such a clearly alienating concept.
My religious views can be found rather easily within the blatherings of my blog, but just in case it isn't as apparent as I might think... I don't like religion. But I have great faith. I have little faith in translations scribed by humans, let's face it, most if not all humans have agendas no matter how pure or free of human urges they (or others) perceive themselves to be.
I have asked this question of others, infact, I just shot off an inquiry to the folks at http://www.christiananswers.net/ - Keep in mind I am not trying to be combative, I truly believe there is peace to be found here.
Here is the note I sent to ChristianAnswers.net (and you, should you deem it worthy of responding too):
I am very curious as to the reasons that the process of evolution can not be used as a means of explaining the logistics of "how" God's creations came to be.
In an attempt to imagine what a measure of a day would be in an infinite lifespan, why can't evolution be a mile-stone mapping of the process of creation?
If we accepted evolution and archealogical finds as snapshots of God's process of creation, would we think any less of God's immense powers?
It seems to me that evolution has the capacity to be an elegant answer as opposed to such a clearly alienating concept.
Grey Hair
Before I get to the point, I have to ask: Have you ever found yourself leaning toward one spelling of grey/gray over the other? They are both acceptable. I like "grey."
I'm beginning to think there is a direct correlation to the amount of grey hair spewing forth from my follicles and the amount of time I spend living in the past.
Hmmmm...
I'm beginning to think there is a direct correlation to the amount of grey hair spewing forth from my follicles and the amount of time I spend living in the past.
Hmmmm...
Good Morning
*SMILE*
Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning,
Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning,
Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning,
Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning,
Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning,
Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning!
For all those times I couldn't/didn't/wouldn't smile and tell you good morning.
Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning,
Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning,
Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning,
Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning,
Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning,
Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning!
For all those times I couldn't/didn't/wouldn't smile and tell you good morning.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Tip Toe Through the Tulips with Me
La dee da dee da
UPDATED! For some unknown reason, it became incredibly important to make that audio file available.
So NOW clicking on the link will load a Windows Media file version... I know, sorry! BUTT hearing the song is bound to make you smile - who cares why?!
*Say Cheese!*
UPDATED! For some unknown reason, it became incredibly important to make that audio file available.
So NOW clicking on the link will load a Windows Media file version... I know, sorry! BUTT hearing the song is bound to make you smile - who cares why?!
*Say Cheese!*
Thursday, March 22, 2007
In Case You Were Wondering...
...about the state of the dumpsters over at Carol's Lighting today in the booming metropolis of Humble, TX:
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
A Rooster's Tale
Years ago, a family lived behind me who had a run-down tool shed they converted to a chicken coop and promptly filled the shanty with a dozen or so chickens.
It wasn't long after the foul penal colony began before the whole damn flock escaped and ran amok throughout the 'hood.
They took to random garden sabotage and committing other acts of gang violence. I really didn't mind the fact that they totally annihilated most of my pseudo-maintained gardens in search of food, or the fact that they developed a preference for roosting in my loquat tree at night, because it gave me countless hours of free entertainment observing them as they went about the business of being chickens.
One thing was clear: Who the poor bastard was that held the prestigious title of "End of pecking order." There was this one chicken-shit, beat-to-hell rooster who did his damndest to stay out of harm's way with the other birds. In contrast to him, way at the other end of the order was always a very proud, confident, finely-feathered fellow, the cock of the walk who would defy anything, everyone, and to his own demise any dog he foolishly encountered in the rampaging of backyards.
The loss of El' Presidente' always worked out okay because there was another fine specimen of a bird eager to fill the vacated position.
Slowly but surely, the flock was whittled down to one lowly rooster, you guessed it- the little chicken-shit one. Because he grew up in a world of constant fear he was quite cautious. He KNEW in his little chicken-brain that any one approaching him surely meant to inflict pain and suffering, he never trusted anything well enough to stick around and challenge it.
He is about six years old now. His feathers are gorgeous! He hangs out at the other end of our dead-end street so my husband and I don't have to wake up to the melodious morning song he cuts loose with every day. I have listened to neighbors complain about him and threaten to have him captured and carried away.
However, as you can plainly see, he seems to be avoiding everyone just fine.
It wasn't long after the foul penal colony began before the whole damn flock escaped and ran amok throughout the 'hood.
They took to random garden sabotage and committing other acts of gang violence. I really didn't mind the fact that they totally annihilated most of my pseudo-maintained gardens in search of food, or the fact that they developed a preference for roosting in my loquat tree at night, because it gave me countless hours of free entertainment observing them as they went about the business of being chickens.
One thing was clear: Who the poor bastard was that held the prestigious title of "End of pecking order." There was this one chicken-shit, beat-to-hell rooster who did his damndest to stay out of harm's way with the other birds. In contrast to him, way at the other end of the order was always a very proud, confident, finely-feathered fellow, the cock of the walk who would defy anything, everyone, and to his own demise any dog he foolishly encountered in the rampaging of backyards.
The loss of El' Presidente' always worked out okay because there was another fine specimen of a bird eager to fill the vacated position.
Slowly but surely, the flock was whittled down to one lowly rooster, you guessed it- the little chicken-shit one. Because he grew up in a world of constant fear he was quite cautious. He KNEW in his little chicken-brain that any one approaching him surely meant to inflict pain and suffering, he never trusted anything well enough to stick around and challenge it.
He is about six years old now. His feathers are gorgeous! He hangs out at the other end of our dead-end street so my husband and I don't have to wake up to the melodious morning song he cuts loose with every day. I have listened to neighbors complain about him and threaten to have him captured and carried away.
However, as you can plainly see, he seems to be avoiding everyone just fine.
Time to Tattle on the Neighbors!
I've had enough! Apparently, Carol's Lighting in Humble, TX is doing GREAT business. I know this because the trash generated by their incoming inventory consistantly exceeds the capacity of their two very large dumpsters - for well over five years this has been the case.
Looking through the fence at work today, this is the site I see. I am certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that all the litter within a 1-mile radius of these dumpsters originated right here.
Time to add a new dumpster to the collection guys!
The Other Library
I work for a small software company that has employed anywhere from 8 to 12 people at a time for the last 11 years. We work in a building that has two side-by-side unisex restrooms. Despite the fact that these bathrooms are unisex, myself and the rest of the staff here ALWAYS go to a specific bathroom based on gender. In other words, men always go to the one on the left and women always go to the one on the right.
There are of course rare occasions that nature gets the best of one of us and it coincides with someone else's rythm and forces that person to use the other bathroom. It is on one of these rare occasions that I found myself rifling through a stack of magazines in the men's room.
I have often wondered about the male half of our species and their total lack of discreetness when it comes to publicly entering a bathroom with literature in hand. There is no doubt about it that they are about to take a dump and most likely be quartered within the stall for an abundant amount of time while they become engrossed in some good article.
Somehow the thought of this subtle act of personal abandonment appealed to me in such a way I defiantly began openly excusing myself to the restroom with my own reading material, and soon took it upon myself to not only stock my bathroom at the house with my favorite magazines, but also cycle out all my old ones by keeping the ladies room here at work well-stocked.
It caught on. It was like some sort of quiet revolution! Women began openly contributing to the "Yes! I'm taking a shit and reading a magazine to circumvent my boredom" bathroom library. Cool huh?
All the above has nothing to do with the point of this post other than to establish the fact that we have had for quite some time two really nice magazine collections here at work.
Interestingly enough, most (if not all) of the magazines are science-related: Scientific American, Natural History, Popular Mechanics, Omni, Smithsonian, Discover, Popular Science... and so on and so forth. I've always thought it was interesting that everyone who contributes to our dual libraries seems to like things having to do with science.
Now for the point of this post. Last week SOMEONE brought in a People magazine. I am not saying I haven't perused its shallow pages, but I feel as though our intellectually stimulating library has just been infiltrated by a gossip-ridden Hollyweird-fluff mag.
To top it all off, whoever brought it, left it right smack on the sink counter instead of placing it in the stack on the back of the toilet. No one here has ever casually left a mag out of place like this before, and so far no one has taken the initiative to properly relocate this mysterious intruder to its spot in the stack.
It is as if all the women going into the bathroom share the same sort of reaction as mine..."What IS this thing doing here? I'm not touching it!"
Every time I go to the bathroom, I am forced to look at the mag on the counter in front of me while I sit on the pot. As an added bonus, because of the big-ass mirror behind the sink I also get to look at myself, as I look at the mag, just oddly sitting there (yes, both of us.) I like to make faces in the mirror to demonstrate my reaction to the magazine's presence... This is my look of disbelief, this is my "shocked-and-awed look," my "Who reads this crap?!!" look... Oh! and here's my "Good-gawd-Brad-and-Angelina-are-adopting-again?!" look.
Is this a psychological study of some kind? a test? The beginnings of another literary revolution in the hallowed hall of the loo, meaning more of these types of magazines will be showing up soon? Is this someone's personal protest about being tired of Science magazines? It's driving me nuts... WHO the hell brought this thing here?
Monday, March 19, 2007
Tra la la boomdeeyay! I'll take yer pants away...
I have a tendency to sink into dark places at times (not just menstrual times either damnit). As a survivor, I learned long ago to suck it up and keep my moroseness to my self - nobody likes a sniveling, self-pitying, overwhelmed female... and I find with my age public tolerance of my "eccentricities" becomes less and less. That being said, now you know the reason for my lack of posts.
It dawned on me that if I write my "argh-stuff" here it really doesn't matter because those who are interested will read, those who aren't will move on. The reason I blog is really a selfish thing, a vent, perhaps validation too - certainly not to gain popularity in the blogsphere or to aquire new cyber-friendships based on a facade.
Okay, so here's the stream-of-conscious thoughts d'jour...
I hope everything goes well today with Jamie's confrontation with her ex-boss. I admire and am astonished at Jamie's intelligence and her courage when she expresses her thoughts and reacts to others. I hope the fellow she will be speaking with gains a bit of insight about himself after their meeting.
I'm tired of being referred to as "lucky" - My life, along with my daughter's (who I drug through my self-induced mire) has not been easy. A lot of sacrifices, hard work, learning curves, losses, mistakes- you name it.
My heart smiles this morning because I see the bank swallows have migrated back to town, there is a large drainage ditch running through the business park where I work. Way into the fall season, the swallows will work the ditch for food and mud that they build their nests with under the little bridge at the back of the park. I have canoed under many an overpass and stood on bridges bursting with the life's energy of enormous nesting colonies of these seemingly friendly, dancing, busy, chattering birds...there is pure joy to be held in standing in their frolicking midst.
My heart cries this morning because I think a kitten went for an uninvited ride to who-knows-where while napping on top of the spare tire that hangs from the undercarriage of our pickup truck.
I really, REALLY want to spray graffiti on all the new churches in our neck-of-getting-ever-so-scarce-woods with the words: Tearing down God's church to bring you our own.
Every week I go to the pet store to load up on all the various pet needs at the house and spend shit-tons of money, every time I do I feel guilty about spending that kind of money on animals... when I could feed a starving kid on a dollar a day - seems like in a matter of a year I could be saving half of Africa's children on the amount of money I spend to fill the gullets of critters who sole purpose in life is to eat, sleep, shit, and make more of the same... not too mention make my house stink.
I have a problem with being able to say "no" to friends and peers. Which is odd because I have NEVER had a relationship with another human who shared that characteristic with me. I also have a problem with asking for anything, when I do finally ask it is because I am desperate. Good thing is I have not been desperate in a long time.
Having money is nice, but it leaves a wide open door to the "luxury" of focusing on emotional/behaviorial/bullshit crap.
Everywhere outside has been dusted with the powdery sulphur-colored substance produced by spring-induced horny plants. It is amazing the amount of plant-spooge covering everything. If you have ever seen microscopic images of pollen, you will know that they look fascinatingly alarming with their spikes and tendrils reaching out in hopes of attaching to something meaningful.
I wish I could spell better.
It dawned on me that if I write my "argh-stuff" here it really doesn't matter because those who are interested will read, those who aren't will move on. The reason I blog is really a selfish thing, a vent, perhaps validation too - certainly not to gain popularity in the blogsphere or to aquire new cyber-friendships based on a facade.
Okay, so here's the stream-of-conscious thoughts d'jour...
I hope everything goes well today with Jamie's confrontation with her ex-boss. I admire and am astonished at Jamie's intelligence and her courage when she expresses her thoughts and reacts to others. I hope the fellow she will be speaking with gains a bit of insight about himself after their meeting.
I'm tired of being referred to as "lucky" - My life, along with my daughter's (who I drug through my self-induced mire) has not been easy. A lot of sacrifices, hard work, learning curves, losses, mistakes- you name it.
My heart smiles this morning because I see the bank swallows have migrated back to town, there is a large drainage ditch running through the business park where I work. Way into the fall season, the swallows will work the ditch for food and mud that they build their nests with under the little bridge at the back of the park. I have canoed under many an overpass and stood on bridges bursting with the life's energy of enormous nesting colonies of these seemingly friendly, dancing, busy, chattering birds...there is pure joy to be held in standing in their frolicking midst.
My heart cries this morning because I think a kitten went for an uninvited ride to who-knows-where while napping on top of the spare tire that hangs from the undercarriage of our pickup truck.
I really, REALLY want to spray graffiti on all the new churches in our neck-of-getting-ever-so-scarce-woods with the words: Tearing down God's church to bring you our own.
Every week I go to the pet store to load up on all the various pet needs at the house and spend shit-tons of money, every time I do I feel guilty about spending that kind of money on animals... when I could feed a starving kid on a dollar a day - seems like in a matter of a year I could be saving half of Africa's children on the amount of money I spend to fill the gullets of critters who sole purpose in life is to eat, sleep, shit, and make more of the same... not too mention make my house stink.
I have a problem with being able to say "no" to friends and peers. Which is odd because I have NEVER had a relationship with another human who shared that characteristic with me. I also have a problem with asking for anything, when I do finally ask it is because I am desperate. Good thing is I have not been desperate in a long time.
Having money is nice, but it leaves a wide open door to the "luxury" of focusing on emotional/behaviorial/bullshit crap.
Everywhere outside has been dusted with the powdery sulphur-colored substance produced by spring-induced horny plants. It is amazing the amount of plant-spooge covering everything. If you have ever seen microscopic images of pollen, you will know that they look fascinatingly alarming with their spikes and tendrils reaching out in hopes of attaching to something meaningful.
I wish I could spell better.
Friday, March 09, 2007
A Blast from the Past
Moments ago, the existence of this video clip on YouTube was brought to my attention. I plead the 5th to any inquiries regarding the identities of the participants in this blatant act of snowman abuse.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Oh well...
After doing only a second of googling, I have to come clean and admit that the article I posted prior to this post most likely was a hoax.
**sheepish grin**
oh well, as I understand it, it wasn't far from the real deal back in the 50's.
I still think we have come a LONG way....
and we have a long way to go.
**sheepish grin**
oh well, as I understand it, it wasn't far from the real deal back in the 50's.
I still think we have come a LONG way....
and we have a long way to go.
Blog Against Sexism Day
Over in Becky's blog, which is ALWAYS choc-full o' wit, wisdom, and sexy content, I learned that today is Blog Against Sexism Day.
Sadly, I can't recall facts, never have been a fact person. I read or hear them, then promptly "record" my reaction or response, instead of the important bits regarding WHY my opinion was impacted.
So I can't do the right thing, and mention the names of women who helped initiate a change in mindset regarding the status of women in society. However, I am eternally grateful to those strong women who did what they did.
If they had not fought those battles, without a doubt, I would have been burned on a stake at a witch-roasting party YEARS ago.
A while back, Gordy was having some fun with me and posted this in his blog... I don't know who to give credit to for the scan of the article, nor do I know who underlined and highlighted the various parts. In 1955, in America, this was the real deal.
Clearly, a LOT has transpired within this country and within my lifetime to enable me to know (and unabashedly proclaim in writing) that I would gnaw my own arms off before pulling another cupcake out of the oven had some one tried to get me to live by this shit.
THANK YOU LADIES!
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Michelle!!!!!
Shelli and moi enamored with the black throne at Winter Street Studios.
And I offer up to you my dear Shelli...exhibit "A" henceforth known as the dream black-toity-to-die-for (or on) as the case may be.
Boo boooooooo bunny!
And I offer up to you my dear Shelli...exhibit "A" henceforth known as the dream black-toity-to-die-for (or on) as the case may be.
Boo boooooooo bunny!
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Death and Dying
About 18 years ago I was asked to do a favor for my boss. She had a friend who had an intense manifestation of Lupus, but despite all the difficulties she endured, this woman continued to go to school and was at the time working toward her P.H.D. She (I'll call her Linda) needed help with desktop publishing and the layout of her thesis (entitled Perceptions of Death and Dying.)
Linda and I sat side-by-side for quite a few hours as we worked on her document. We shared many a philosophical discussion regarding people's fears of death and dying. I remember clearly deciding that it was worthless to fear or worry about inevitable death, but instead had plenty of fear regarding the unknown of HOW it would happen.
That fear of HOW it will come about still stays with me today. The first way that pops up in my mind is I don't want to be one of those people who have a coronary whilst sitting on the pot involved in a rather extreme BM. I am sure this IS the way it will be only because i don't want it to be so.
Another fear was that I would drive off the side of one of those high-in-the-sky single-lane overpasses. Years ago I had a front tire blowout while driving on one of those ramps. I managed to maintain control and get safely to the side. That day almost completely dispelled my fear of dieing with that MO.
It is along these lines that at the ripe old age of 21 I came upon one of Vonneguts books that had contained within its pages a suicide booth. A place one could go to comfortably die when they felt damn good and ready to do so. I have thought him to be a genius ever since.
I'm not sure where this was going...but had to write it down anyway.
In retrospect, I should probably add that I am NOT ready to go just yet :)
Linda and I sat side-by-side for quite a few hours as we worked on her document. We shared many a philosophical discussion regarding people's fears of death and dying. I remember clearly deciding that it was worthless to fear or worry about inevitable death, but instead had plenty of fear regarding the unknown of HOW it would happen.
That fear of HOW it will come about still stays with me today. The first way that pops up in my mind is I don't want to be one of those people who have a coronary whilst sitting on the pot involved in a rather extreme BM. I am sure this IS the way it will be only because i don't want it to be so.
Another fear was that I would drive off the side of one of those high-in-the-sky single-lane overpasses. Years ago I had a front tire blowout while driving on one of those ramps. I managed to maintain control and get safely to the side. That day almost completely dispelled my fear of dieing with that MO.
It is along these lines that at the ripe old age of 21 I came upon one of Vonneguts books that had contained within its pages a suicide booth. A place one could go to comfortably die when they felt damn good and ready to do so. I have thought him to be a genius ever since.
I'm not sure where this was going...but had to write it down anyway.
In retrospect, I should probably add that I am NOT ready to go just yet :)
Monday, March 05, 2007
Mondays...
I'm beginning to like Mondays more and more. Why? Because I expect absolutely nothing out of them. I awake Monday morning and with my first cup of coffee and smoke designed to seduce me into my existance for yet another day, I vanquish all my weekend hopes and dreams to the land of never and resign myself once again to the M-F,8-5CST drudgery that does nothing more than provide me with the income to do what I feel i need to for the other two remaining days of the week.
Because I expect NOTHING out of Monday, Monday generally goes by quite expeditiously. What a nice gift for Monday to give.
Speaking of gifts...
The gifts i don't anticipate are wonderful beyond words. Oddly, the gifts i hope for and receive are few. Upon receipt, the gifts I expected seem unsatisfying. But if one were to compare the number of gifts I have received with the number of gifts i have given, sadly I admit I am selfishly in arrears.
Because I expect NOTHING out of Monday, Monday generally goes by quite expeditiously. What a nice gift for Monday to give.
Speaking of gifts...
The gifts i don't anticipate are wonderful beyond words. Oddly, the gifts i hope for and receive are few. Upon receipt, the gifts I expected seem unsatisfying. But if one were to compare the number of gifts I have received with the number of gifts i have given, sadly I admit I am selfishly in arrears.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
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