Wednesday, April 13, 2016
Not bitter at all
I ask the gods:
"Why does time move more swiftly within two feet of my front door, but more slowly anywhere near the front desk of the library I work at, especially whenever anyone says, within hearing distance, 'I just need to get a library card'?", and the gods get so chatty in their response that it is basically impossible to stop them from talking.
"Time is like a grand buffet, the cheap items that no one wants very much are always plentiful." The gods say. Or "Space is not the same width or weight in all places but comes out even no matter where one averages it."
But then I ask the gods something perfectly simple, like "Why is my blog is not insanely popular and world renowned?" which I don't ask too much these days, but it does occasionally come up, and the gods are all like "Shoot, hang on, I left my hat in The Elysian Fields. I'll be right back!" Only they don't ever come back unless I ask about the meaning of life, or about their favorite painter (John Singer Sargent). Then they talk about John Singer Sargent and Emil Nolde as long as I can stand it, until I ask them what is causing the cramping in my foot, at which point they suddenly have a dentist appointment they are late for.
So what's my point?
I don't know, I'll ask the gods.