What is a ‘mission’? How do you reconcile the meaning you associate with that and its Latin root, missio, to send, and actual use of the term? Why do we talk about a “mission to do x” and hereafter refer to “mission” as though it encompassed “to do x” itself, rather than the act of sending?
What on earth is a life centred on two bits of wood hurriedly nailed together and stained crimson? Do people worship symbols on particularly sugary buns?
I think this website is a measure of discontentment. I rarely post when there is nothing to grumble about, because good news is apparently boring. This website makes me feel guilty. It’s one big occasionally-ugly mirror. I don’t look into it when things are good, and pour the bad into it the rest of the time interspersed with geeky things… a slightly acquisitive load of rubbish designed to obfuscate and create a false set of values that improve (in the eye of the beholder, for a time) the reflection. It’s easy to forget these things.
At any rate, blogs are a useless journal medium. Too much happens in any given day. Yesterday, I installed QuickBooks and realised that absolute morons are able to run their own businesses with good reason and it needn’t be so hard afterall. *insert rant about software*
Tax is predictably boring stuff, though, so when Claud suggested we go see Becoming Jane (contrary to rumours I dragged her along — though if she hadn’t, I would have done… we enjoyed it for different reasons, I maintain!) I was there in a matter of… well, about an hour. Somewhere in the middle we went shopping for food & ate lunch. *insert rant about the film, about the wonderful speed-distraction medium that IM is, and maybe others*
Spent a lazy-enough afternoon at her house until a phone call promised poker and food of the barbecued variety at Gareth’s place, which ended in two particularly dim-witted hands, and some interesting reading of Time magazine’s global warming issue. Some of the 51 ideas printed were on the mark, others seemed a little less so (energy efficient lighting was one I know enough about to take issue with, hybrid cars were thankfully nowhere that I could see). *insert rant about global warming bandwagon*
Later, I started contributing more carbon by trying to drive Budd’s car (a manual, I’d only drive a manual lawnmower in the past) as he listened to his clutch slowly being torn to shreds. *insert rant about manual/auto transmission and licensing and the like*
There are other funny stories to be shared within that, but each of those comprises an entire post of its own. I have no interest in chronicling my life with that degree of detail. Perhaps if I were a Dickinson–esque recluse I’d have time enough to write and little enough to write about that I might write more. But thankfully I’m not.