October 15, 2012


Mighty rain outside, a little rain through the ceiling onto the study floor. Gray depression springs from the littlest things. But one considers that the leak is in one of the least obnoxious places it could be. That's the sort of thing they tell you to be thankful for in Sunday School.

One friend is embittered with the world because he speaks his mind and then people are mad at him. What he doesn’t seem to understand is that he speaks his mind always, immediately, reflexively, without concern for appropriateness or effect. He is always the issue. He is always the one whose concerns are being addressed, who stops the course of things to have his say, and if not, his selfhood is being violated in some way, and there's THAT to lament. To some people the concept of private thoughts simply does not exist. That is charming, sometimes.


My Starbucks coffee had grounds in the bottom. Took a big swig near the end and almost puked. Still want to.

The roof I had put on–what?–three summers ago is defective, apparently. The two boys played Jesus music the whole time they were up on the roof. That should have been the giveaway. I overpaid them because they had worked so hard.