Rational Thoughts

I was musing on a muse, and it was amusing. But, I mused, what could I do with it? It wouldn't stay hung on the wall, or sit quietly in the corner...honestly, it gave me nearly as much trouble as Samantha, my old elephant. I finally got rid of her on the advice of a friend, but now this muse comes barging in, amuses the life out of me, and insists on turning my socks inside out. What am I supposed to do with a muse like that? Aside from being amused, I mean. Seriously...it even ate my nachos. I don't know if I like this muse so well. I should find something else to muse about...

Perhaps the chair. But which chair? There are so many choices. I could muse about the one next to me, if I got up and walked around it. Or if I draped myself over it somehow, or curled up around one of its legs. I suppose that's technically about, but it's really more around. Shall I muse around it? That sure seems like a lot of work. I'm in a chair now, but am I really in it...in, but not of, perhaps. Has anyone ever mused of a chair? In a chair, now...that's been done. Entirely too often, by the looks of things. I don't think they get mused of very often, though. And if you really want to get technical (why do you, anyway?) I'm actually sitting ON this chair, not in it. I could muse on a chair. I guess technically I am. Okay then.

But that still doesn't answer the question about what in the world that yellow broom is doing knocking on the window. I may not know who holds the future, but I think I know who holds the broom. Actually, I do know who holds the future, and I know Him personally, as well. But ask not for whom the broom wholds....woah. Now there's a cool word. What am I to do with it? It's kind of like whorl, only knot. So there.

Hmm. It's still snowing. If the wind were howling, I could say the weather was snowling. But it's not, so I won't. The birds don't seem to care about all of this, or even for any one point in particular. Except the snow. I would assume they care about that, perhaps too much, but they're handling it well. It's very pretty, regardless of who cares what about it. What do you care about it? I'm curious. Notice, please, that I'm asking what, not why. Diolch.

I wonder if a chair's ever been mused over. I wonder if a chair's ever been amused? They could be amused over something, but what would that something be? What in the whorl would amuse a chair? Perhaps a whorl would amuse a chair, but it would depend on the kind of whorl. An insubstantial one, out in space somewhere, wouldn't do it, I don't think. And they have no use for cotton candy, or whorled peas...or is that whirled? Whirled. Yes. Visualize that, why don't you. I don't. Why not? It's been done, that's why.

If this snow were moving faster, it would qualify as whorling, perhaps. If not simply whirling. But as it is, it's not even swirling. So we have swirl and whirl, but how come whorl and not sworl? What does sworl mean? Is it anything akin to whold? Hmm. The chair's not responding. Where's Sarah when I need her? Or tech support? I can't hit CTRL+ALT+DEL because its keyboard's not hooked up. Oh well. Defective chair. It will just sit here and look ornamental, I guess. Although at the moment I fail to grasp what's so ornamental about a brown folding chair. I do have my moments, but I guess this isn't one of them.

I have no profound thoughts to close with; I used them all up in the intro. So now I'm trying to decide whether to make something up and call it profound or to just not close at all. Decisions, decisions...hmm....

I suppose I could close on a thought and leave you to wonder whether or not it was going to be profound, but that would involve

In a novel not being written, there is a high and stormy mountian. It is a chain of mountains, actually--vast, razor-sharp peaks soaring skyward. The particular mountain in question is often angry, battering itself and all about it with snow and ice and hail and lightning. Sometimes it subsides into a sullen fog, wrapped in merciless cold.

There was a traveler who tried to climb this mountain once. He made it much farther than he should have, but finally--worn out, gasping, frozen--he came to the end and collapsed, clawing vainly, at The Door he sought.

But then what happened? Did a hand reach out at the Last Minute and save him--pulling him inside The Door to warmth and light and life? Or if he Entered after all, was it to new challenges, and perhaps once more to Despair? Or did he sleep eternally there on the mountain, to be covered by snow and ice and nevermore remembered? Did he leave anyone behind who would miss him when he was gone? Would they look for him--call for him, perhaps--and sorrow when he could not be found? Or was there no one--no one at all--to even notice that someone's place was empty?

We shall never know, perhaps, as the novel is not being written.

So I was in the hospital a few weeks ago for surgery...

They asked me all sorts of intrusive questions. Name, age, gender, favorite color, bank password, mother's maiden name... you name it, they asked it. But they did get a bit more personal after they'd admitted me (which means that they finally had enough information to admit I existed and, most importantly, could pay them). The health questions I could understand. But then...

"Do you live alone?" No.
"Who[m] do you live with?" Parents.
"Is that your dad?" Yes.
"Are you religious?" well, not the way you mean it, but... Yes.
"Would you care to put down your religious affiliation?" Christian.
"Do you or have you suffered from depression?" ironically, I wouldn't have answered this way (due to ignorance) a few years ago, when it was actually a Problem, but... Yes.
"Where do you get your emotional support?" ...mostly from God... Family. (Dad's addendum: And friends.)
"Do you feel safe at home?" ...say what???... oh yeah; the rest of the world has problems... Yes.
"Is there any chance you might be pregnant?" ...a resounding... NO.
"Do you smoke?" No.
"Drink?" No.
"Any other drugs?" No. ...people admit that kind of thing now?...

At this point, the nurse looked up at me and smiled sympathetically. "If your answers to any of these questions change later, just let me know."

Excuse me??? Now society expects that I not only do these things, but lie about them with a straight face, in a semi-legal setting, in front of my parents??? Argh. Perhaps it is how most of society functions, but I find it a bit ridiculous. I think what most disturbs me is that they simply take it as a matter of course that I could be lying.

Well, I wasn't, and I ain't gonna; but apparently bureaucracy no longer believes that.

Well, I'm giving in and starting a blog. This would be better if I had something to say on such a momentous (and potentially infamous) occasion, but I don't. So never mind.