To my surprise, I have all sorts of things I'd like to blog about at the moment -- witty fragments abound in my list of draft posts. However, shit keeps hitting the fan at the most bizarre and relentless rate of knots that I don't have time to indulge in my micrometaphysical punditry.
For the love of god, people. I am prepared to accept that life can be hard because the right thing doesn't come along, and because the right choices don't seem to be available, and because one tortures oneself with the thought that the available choices ought to be the ones that one is happy with, and yet there seems to be something, something there in the dust and fog of your mind, which suggests something else ...
But that moment when everything goes south because the right thing does come along? When panic and the desperate scramble for the security of longing wins over the chance for which one has quietly, hopefully and always rather dubiously waited? If you need a reason to pull yourself together and be brave, make it the rest of us. Because if those who get the onces-in-a-lifetime don't take it, if they pass up the glittering, terrifying wonders of dreams come true for the mother's-skirts, soothing narcosis of the everyday and familiar, then no-one will believe any more. Fairies are dropping by the fucking hundreds.
Goddamn it! You owe it to those of us in the clichéd wilderness of Is-This-All-There-Is? Take your chances, by everything that is holy!
So since the great and wonderful hopes of millions are being trampled, I am looking at the small things which make me smile here in the wilderness. Such as the fact that in Terry Pratchett's Pyramids, the pharoah Pteppic's kingdom is called Djelibeybi.