To quote
One should never say to oneself: "Well, tomorrow will be much better than today, and anyway, today can't get much worse."
I assure you, if you feel compelled to think along these lines, you will undoubtedly find one or more ways in which to make the day much worse than it would have been had you left it to itself.
I, forward-looking only, ancipating with eager excitement the coming week (and also several weeks to follow after that), have managed this, exactly.
From the fickle flame of technology, to my own fickle and ill-guided flame, I have fairly well desicrated this day.
It hadn't even begun horribly. It is factual that I felt rather neurotic at work in the wee-hours, but the abrupt appearence of sunbeams thrown haphazardly across the store's walls were a beautiful recovery.
And while meeting the "muffin man" was highly equivical to meeting "captain America" many years before, this too was brisked aside and the day went on. Nothing came crashing to the ground in my hands, nothing was fumbled, only one small item was lost for a small amount of time. The day, in short, when I thought the above forbidden thought was not so terrible.
But, alas, I have managed to both mangle it and call my mangling of it.
And now I eat too much ketchup atop mediocrely scrambled eggs with far-too-well-toasted bits of bread that I have successfully caught a few tastebuds in. There is butter strewn on the counter and I have no recollection of where the other dishes were precariously perched in my depressed attempt to get out of a ridiculous stupor, which I brought upon myself. I haven't read "The Giver" and I haven't gone to a cafe. I probably won't, in light of. And, it's only 6:44 in the afternooon.
Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.
Or, so it goes.
I assure you, if you feel compelled to think along these lines, you will undoubtedly find one or more ways in which to make the day much worse than it would have been had you left it to itself.
I, forward-looking only, ancipating with eager excitement the coming week (and also several weeks to follow after that), have managed this, exactly.
From the fickle flame of technology, to my own fickle and ill-guided flame, I have fairly well desicrated this day.
It hadn't even begun horribly. It is factual that I felt rather neurotic at work in the wee-hours, but the abrupt appearence of sunbeams thrown haphazardly across the store's walls were a beautiful recovery.
And while meeting the "muffin man" was highly equivical to meeting "captain America" many years before, this too was brisked aside and the day went on. Nothing came crashing to the ground in my hands, nothing was fumbled, only one small item was lost for a small amount of time. The day, in short, when I thought the above forbidden thought was not so terrible.
But, alas, I have managed to both mangle it and call my mangling of it.
And now I eat too much ketchup atop mediocrely scrambled eggs with far-too-well-toasted bits of bread that I have successfully caught a few tastebuds in. There is butter strewn on the counter and I have no recollection of where the other dishes were precariously perched in my depressed attempt to get out of a ridiculous stupor, which I brought upon myself. I haven't read "The Giver" and I haven't gone to a cafe. I probably won't, in light of. And, it's only 6:44 in the afternooon.
Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.
Or, so it goes.
