Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life

A friend sat next to a nun on a plane. He asked her what she missed most. "Wearing blue jeans," she replied.

When I'm about to cross a street and a car stops to let me go, I don't just walk - I sort of jog-dodge across to, you know, show the driver that I'm not taking advantage of this situation. Yes, I, the pedestrian, have the right of way, but see, I care about you, too, here, just a sec, I'll cross quickly and get out of your way.

When I am feeling dreary, annoyed, and generally unimpressed by life, I imagine what it would be like to come back to this world for just a day after having been dead. I imagine how sentimental I would feel about the very things I once found stupid, hateful, or mundane. Oh, there's a light switch! I haven't seen a light switch in so long! ... Oh! And look - the stairs up to our front porch are still completely cracked! Hello, cracks! ... And there's my neighbor, standing there, fantastically alive, just the same, still punctuating her sentences with you know what I'm saying? Why did that used to bother me?

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