2002-02-20 5:18 p.m. There are times in every person's life when you must wipe the mud from your face and body, pick yourself up, and start again. Where this mud comes from or why we all must topple into it heels over head is a mystery. Perhaps the holy books of Asia may have some answers. I wouldn't know, I don't care to read them. Yesterday, in order to foil any attempts to wrest the time machine from my possession, I sent the machine out in a box via UPS at their slowest delivery rate. I addressed it to myself with instructions to deliver the package to my own back door, confident that I would have dealt with my many enemies with swift finality by the time the box returned. As luck would have it, the UPS delivery man, on his walk back to his van, noticed the destination address and walked to my back door to deliver the package immediately. Upon opening the package, still with the child-like delight of getting mail, any mail, even from myself, I found that somewhere between the front and back door the device had been destroyed en route. The rest of today will be dedicated to sitting in the dark, in shock. |
1. today is nice 3. happy yesterdays 8. thanks for hosting 4. doing other things |
(Proof that I am the only one reading.) |