I hope you enjoyed anger week here at clerkmanifesto!
Oh, you ask, it was anger week? Is it over?
I DON'T KNOW! I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW IT WAS ANGER WEEK UNTIL I STARTED TO WRITE THIS POST! NO ONE TELLS ME ANYTHING!
So, this is all new to me too.
I could see how you might consider me a bit more, er, responsible than, for instance, you, for anger week. I do accept this. I agree with it even.
But I still don't know if it's over.
I do feel a bit less mad having yelled though.
At the library a few hours ago I was putting a book in a box to go to another branch, and it looked very interesting so I read as much of it as I could for ten minutes as I was putting it in the box. This effectively means it took me ten minutes to put one book in a box. Ah well. The book said that the three hardest words to say are "I don't know."
You know what I think? I think I don't know. I don't know if "I don't know" are the three hardest words to say. I think there might be harder words. I think there are probably harder words. I would tell them to you but...
I don't know.
I spent a lot of my week writing blog posts in my head. They are very different than the posts I write for real. When I really like the ones in my head I try to stop and make a note of them on a bit of paper in my pocket. Sometimes I can later look at my note and write something related to it, but often, with any notable delay, these notes become like a short dream diary entry of a dream I have completely forgotten. "Car watching." One note I have says. "Is best in neighborhoods." I have no idea what was going on there. It was supposed to be a blog post and all I can remember now is the mild high I had imagining it. It could have been this blog post if the universe rolled out differently.
Maybe if it didn't turn out to be anger week.
And sometimes I have a strange thought, a single phrase that comes to me anywhere, unbidden, mysterious. For instance tonight, I had one while working on the library check in machine, somewhere between reading about "I don't know" and wheeling carts of books about. The mysterious phrase that comes is like a puzzle, an assertion that seeks answers. So later, usually, I write a blog post as a way to try and solve the puzzle. Sometimes it does solve the puzzle. Sometimes it doesn't. Tonight, working quite alone, almost content, the phrase I thought was:
I'm too tired to make you like me.