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The Ordinary of the Days

OK So yesterday was the day from semi-hell. Rather like a mini-armageddon, or an armageddonette. Between the dryer and the dishwasher and the people visiting to make things whole and the inability for anyone to understand anything, it was exhausting. No one could produce the tools or parts necessary to do their jobs. And there was a bird nest in the dryer vent. (I don’t know why I mention that. It seemed important at the time.) Oh yes, it was only discovered after many unsuccessful attempts to get the hot air flow to actually flow. Need I mention that the washing machine hose was somehow disconnected during the jostling of the dryer? And yes, it was draining at the time so there was water in the hose. A lot of water that continued to gush. It was the giant equivalent of the spilled cup of water that lands on the floor and becomes a gallon when it lands. I can’t bring myself to talk about the dishwasher. I became as nonfunctional as all the other people and appliances. The quotidian routine was unable to juggle the grenade of destruction.

There was only one possible solution. Yes, margaritas were in order.

So today I function with a hangover and, however, functioning appliances and no people. I rejoice in welcoming the ordinary.

bukowski-quote5

 

 

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Dysania!

Oh my word there’s a word for that? I have this. I’m sure it’s a disease. I love being up early & being the only one awake and about. It is a magical time of the day. The problem is that once I get out of that habit it’s very difficult to regain. This is my actual natural state—that of dysania. And it’s not an inherited one. I come from a family of early risers. I’ve always crossed this off to one of the seven deadly sins: Sloth. Oh slothful am I! And the victim of a state of being. *Sigh* But, would not an affliction by any other name smell as sour? (To paraphrase the Bard.)

grandeliquentwordof

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Meaning?

thinkMindsBizareArt

From Thinking Minds: Bizarre Art

At first look, what? And then another, or two, maybe three. Icarus and the sun? A dream? Maybe it was good once then everything changed. As it always does. And we go from the brightness into the darkness. Nothing to learn, just see.

 

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Something About

Old books, old libraries, old sofas.

bibliocave

Posted by Bibliocave

Old leather sofas. So like a kid who plays with paperdolls and phantasizes, I phantasize about libraries and books. Old sofas too. I save the photos and plan my next trip around. Just in case there’s reincarnation. Although this first photo looks more like a book store than a private library. And there’s no old sofa to lounge in. It does offer the advantage of a bit messy. There’s something nice about books and paintings being tangled about. Just a tad unruly to satisfy the irreverent in us. Sometimes we’re just too busy working at our passion to clean up as we go. It’s not like cooking after all. So here we have two selections to dream our plans around.

PenguinRH

Penguin Random House Post

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Is Enough Too Much?

When is there too much of something? Too many Flowers? Too much Music?

sliceOfLife

Posted on Facebook by Slice of Life

Too much Joy? Too much Love? Too much Peace?

Can there ever be enough of something? I don’t know, I guess so. Maybe of some things. William Blake said we don’t know what enough is until we’ve had too much. But is that really the same thing as too large an amount? Aldous Huxley said we can’t have Heaven without Hell. That we need comparisons, or more accurately we need contrasts. Rather like we would not know a thing intimately or would get used to and therefor tire of something repetitious. I really don’t know.

The thought of this makes some of us want to make a list, a chart, a diagram of things to check against the possibility of there ever being too much of it. But is that too much?