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Bugged


I'm being bugged by the mere presence of humanity today. I guess that means I'm in a bad mood. Don't you ever get that way? Like you would just like five minutes with no other human being for a hundred miles. Five minutes... that's all.

I wonder if I'd make a good hermit? Probably not, I like to talk to much. Plus I think a hermit is required to give up the internet... it's in the 'code of hermit ethics.' Right after--live in a cave you've burrowed out of the mountain yourself.

Isn't that how you imagine hermits? I do. Except for once I read a book that described one character (a hermit) as hiding away in his house with his books, away from civilization and wishing only to remain that way till he died. I'm more inclined to that sort of hermit-ness.

But since I'm not a hermit, and I don't have the opportunity to remove myself from others I suppose I'll just have to wash my grumpiness off in a hot shower. I HEART hot showers. Nothing causes bad moods to disappear as quickly as fifteen minutes of scalding hot water. Don't you agree?

And then I'll have to do some chores--forget myself in work--that will help as well.

See if I plan it all out, hopefully by the end of the day I won't be so grumpy.


Hopefully.

Otherwise I'll just have to lock myself in my room (for the second time this week) and read. That's about as close to a hermit as I can get... instead of solitude for a hundred miles I get solitude in one hundred inches.

I guess you take what you can get.

Comments

Morgan -Ing said…
My darn kids find me when I hide, even in the bathroom. Sigh.:)
cannwin said…
So do mine... They usually then proceed to throw themselves against the locked door as if they expect it to crumble from their might.
Jennifer said…
My fantasy is to have a cabin up in the woods somewhere, snug and warm, with an internet connection (magically appearing, since I would be about 50 miles from any other house). I could work online, shop online, and chat online if feel the need for human companionship. I would have my books and the beautiful world outside, and no other human being in sight.

We get this from Dad, you know. That's why we lived so far out of town.

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Mutterings of a Middle-Aged Dreamer

Use your words, my dear sweet soul, they are inside of you... So find them. Write, you silly girl, write so hard the world will never forget you.
But does it matter if the world remembers you? 
Age begins to press its hands upon your chest and the need to be remembered seems to increase with the pressure. 
Stop.
That's not a line of thought you're interested in pursuing. 
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Does it matter if the world remembers you if your neighbor is going hungry? 
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