After I checked the mailbox for the fifteenth time, I attempted to despair. While I did feel a twinge of longing for some sort of human contact, any sort at all, I needed to resort to Thomas Merton to advance my near-constant state of ennui to a level where I felt actual sadness. This, too, shall not last as eventually my media player will either run out of batteries or Thomas Merton, at which point I shall merely regress to a state where I simply am, emotionless.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
After I checked the mailbox for the fifteenth time, I attempted to despair. While I did feel a twinge of longing for some sort of human contact, any sort at all, I needed to resort to Thomas Merton to advance my near-constant state of ennui to a level where I felt actual sadness. This, too, shall not last as eventually my media player will either run out of batteries or Thomas Merton, at which point I shall merely regress to a state where I simply am, emotionless.
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5 comments:
you can't find blog replies in your strange wooden mailbox, silly! you have to look in the internet! that lives on your computing device.
I see. Should I also place the mailbox outside the door?
It's Thomas Merton. Not Morton. He was a Catholic monk and writer.
I've been misreading it for years.
Well, as that guy who is on that popular show that all the kids are watching said, "Something pertinent."
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