And then I'll start again.
The madness is that I will spend the next hour trying to figure out which one to remove. a kind of madness dthrip
And that, my friend, is a kind of sanity no one warns you about. And then I'll start again
So here I am, writing this on the back of a grocery receipt, because the Hum doesn't like the sound of keyboard clicks— too many variables, too many possible patterns . I am not asking for help. Help would require explaining that the problem isn't the shakers, or the rug, or the crumb from this morning (which I finally swept up, then put back, then swept again, just to feel the relief of a decision, even a wrong one). So here I am, writing this on the
The real madness—the kind no one writes pamphlets about—is that I am aware of the absurdity. I can stand there, two shakers in my hands, and say aloud: "This is pointless. No one is coming to dinner. The universe does not care if the pepper is west of the salt." And the Hum replies: West is a human construct. But you did just use it. Interesting. Now check the rug.
It doesn't. I checked.
For three hours.