Crooked Finger (crookedfingers) wrote,
Crooked Finger
crookedfingers

  • Mood:

promises loads of laughs

It is 4:17 PM Thursday late afternoon. The sun has disappeared and it is now gray outside. It is 16 degrees and it is suppose to start snowing soon.

I had thus far a normal day. Existence went by like it always does. Yawn.

I spent most of the day wandering the house and reading from these two books-

"George Orwell Diaries" Introduction by Christopher Hitches/Edited by Peter Davison

"The Lost Scrapbook" a novel by Evan Dara

I laid down for about an hour down in the lower level this afternoon. I got up around 2:50 PM from a fitful nap. I found two pieces of junk mail in our mail box this afternoon. I am suppose to get stuff in the mail next week. Next week my wife will be out in the Wild West. My wife got up around 3:20 PM and left to have her hair cut. Tonight she plans to go to a Woman's Bible Study on the Book of Job. Only three women come to this Bible Study from her church Covenant PCA. Carol is not one to stay home tonight and recover from working two nights. Off she will go even though she has to get packed for her trip. I see no logical reason to do anything these does.

I find myself playing inside my head the conversations I hear while at a local thrift store Bibles For Mexico. The thrift store is staffed by old retired people who profess to be Christians (not sure if all the folks who volunteer at this thrift store would profess to be Christians). When I look at the used books at this thrift store it is by the room where all the stuff donated is sorted through by the volunteers. I can hear these old people talking about stuff like church, people who are sick or just ordinary existence topics like the weather, who died etc. . . What I find painful is that these people have come to the end of their days. These old people have worked hard all their days and raised families. Now they are sorting old clothes and junk in a room in a thrift store waiting to die and maybe go to heaven. What these old people talk about seems so weightless. I suppose when you face old age it is nice to have other old people to share your trivial existence with. In this thrift store is the strong smell of old clothes or human decay. The smell reminds me of the Rescue Missions I lived in years ago before I married Carol. The smell of desperation and failure. The smell of emptiness and unfulfilled dreams.

Well I suppose I will close to feel chilled to the bone. There is nothing else.
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