Rain, rain, go away.
Its Saturday morning in the domicile of the Jo. So far the tragedy of my existence has been starkly revealed to me in the ominous foreshadowing that we’re out of butter and Maple syrup! And also coffee!! Well, Joeys staple at any rate. Which means I was faced with a grim fork in the road of either having to venture into the dark forest of spousal caffeine, which while ‘coffee’ has a definite underscore of vanilla running throughout. Or the bleak path of… instant.
Eventually, after a fair amount of internal deliberation I went with instant. Which in turn catapults me into another ethical dilemma. Ha ha. I laugh because, like most people, I’m supremely picky about which ethical dilemmas I choose to care about… because lets be honest, the most ethical thing you can probably do is just to kill yourself. Its just that we all suffer from incredible ‘living’ bias that prevents (most of us) from acting out this deep realization.
Also, my ethics are variable… being toned up or down (and sometimes jiggled from left to right) depending on… well… probably foremost how much REM sleep I’ve had. And then… in my youth at least… how aesthetically pleasing you happened to be (and how much I wanted to see you naked). I could instantly find myself caring about a whole range of topics that, under normal operating conditions, I would never even consider, if you were mad but of lithe form and of a nubile nature.
In any event, I can’t drink instant without milk. And soy… which (on opening the pantry) we have about a million liters of, in granular coffee… I’ve really tried, but its vile.
Anyways, ‘big’ dairy has been a long standing bugbear of mine. And mostly, I don’t like supporting their cruelty machine nor their industry lobbying.
Wait… isn’t butter dairy?
Shut-up! This is my crazy narrative and butting in with your fake-news just upsets me. And since, we’ve already established that I am severely under-caffeinated… things can go awry pretty quickly. Next thing you know we’re digging trenches along the Somme and Mustard gassing each other… which apparently has very little to do with the yellow condiment, and more about a foamy, gurgling demise where your eyeballs explode.
Basically this is all a long winded confession. I had a dash of full cream with my faux-java.
If you want to unfollow me, I’ll totally understand. I’m the worst kind of unprincipled humanity. I can’t even fake it on social media anymore.
Speaking of which, I saw this on my feed this morning. Which I purloined.
I often find myself thinking, ‘Damn, Neil Strauss is really clever’, I really should get into more of his stuff. But then I do… and then I lose interest super quick. ‘Damn Neil Strauss is such an arrogant poser’.
Ha ha. I mean I think we all do this (to some degree), when deep dive into somebody, the little things that grind us about their personality tend to become these enormous hurdles we can’t circumnavigate or surmount. Or even forgive.
I often find this happens to me with writers I like. They write really clever, witty and inspiring stuff… but also, these days, (over) share their lives on social media… and then because I’ve chosen to get involved in every aspect of their existence, so as to suck the marrow out of their minds… it tends not to match the picture of the person I’ve built them up to be. Writers should be mysterious. That way they can never disappoint you with their humanity and deep average-ness.
I am for example super grateful that Terry Pratchett (possibly my favorite of all authors) died before sacrificing himself on the altar of inanity. Whereas Neil Gaiman… who used to have this almost godlike persona in my mind… after having watched interviews with him and consumed various other… ‘snapshots’ of his quiddity… its all been reduced to a seriously mean life. I’d go so far as to say, a living condition that is completely unenviable. I would definitely not swap.
Unlike me of course, whose writing is none of those things I admire,… but whose life is awesome. Except for not be able to eat delicious flapjacks and kickstart my day with ambrosia like blackness.
Oh my god. I love my wife. She has returned from the animal charity shop (to whom we have been religiously delivering our de-clutterings of late)… to be more accurate she detoured on the way home and has arrived bearing ‘Grandes’.
Vaguely I wonder if Amanda Palmer brings Neil Gaiman coffee. He’s probably too scared of her to make a mewling sound and drag himself round the house with a hangdog expression. Lest he get punched in the face. ‘Suck it up cupcake’ I imagine her saying, before summersaulting him with a left hook. (she kindly turns her ring around though, so as not to leave any marks)
Its been raining here in Jo’burg for… what feels like forever. Two weeks at least now. The aftermath of Cyclone Eloise hitting Mozambique and us getting the tale end of all that moisture.
Its driving us all mad. Like seriously mad. Why have you abandoned us golden disc in the sky? Also South Africans can’t drive under optimal circumstances… so adding prolonged precipitation to the mix has been, interesting. If you considering stepping outside your abode and almost dying in an overturned automobile, interesting.
I have no idea how y’all cope up there (near the top of the planet) with all that gray and saturated-ness. No wonder you’re all a little unhinged.