A Compromise

Well, I guess the world now knows I can survive a whole week without chatting and texting. Not really much of an accomplishment; probably ticked a lot of you off. Better yet, a lot of you probably didn’t even notice. And that just goes to show how much or highly I think of myself. One’s world is awfully lonely when it’s egocentric.

Starting Friday, July 30, I’ll allow myself to send 35 texts a week. That’s five texts a day.

Two hours of chat a day. It may not be at the same time every day. It may be split up throughout the day.

This doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk to you.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Amuse Me

A white board hangs on our front door. Sometimes the roommates write interesting things on it. Yesterday I happened to look at the door and found these two ideas wrestling:

I can’t identify the handwritings. Two different people, out of the three who live with me. I could figure them out easily enough. I pass through the kitchen all the time, and often I do the dishes just because it’s nice to have a clean surface for my food to ass on. I’m on about three hours’ sleep today, and that apparent curse word in the last sentence was a crude and pretty tacky derivation of a French word, but right now it’s pretty dang funny, and all I can think of is how my professor says that 60% of English vocabulary comes from French, and so many layers of meaning seep through words by learning another language, intensifying and expanding my power to communicate. Muah ha ha ha ha! But here, in this instance, I just visualize sitting on a plate of food.

Much easier than trying to reconcile the white board.

No wonder the French are so skinny.