Sunday, February 9, 2014

Day VII: Lazy

Have you ever tried typing when your right hand is asleep? It is surprisingly difficult. I mean, I could just wait the extra 90 seconds for my fingers to get back into shape or for my palm to stop feeling like thousands of tiny spears are attempting to get to the surface through the last layer of my skin. But if I had waited, then I couldn't possibly explain to you how trying it has been to write these few sentences. This picture probably does a much better job --->

Today has been a very lazy Sunday. Sibley's been recovering with Chipotle, Kyle's been playing Final Fantasy, and I've been reading Ernest Cline's Ready Player One. Oh, and we've all been watching Drag Race. Obviously. We're not neanderthals, for god's sake.

But a lazy day is, sometimes, very nice.

It's the type of day where the best sound in the world is ice cubes clanking in your water glass or the occasional soft sigh or laugh from a memorable cut-scene or powerful paragraph.

Yes, the world could use more days like this one.

I've always treasured Sundays. And though they are oh-so-fleeting, I can't help but think there would be plenty more days like this one if we all slowed down just a bit. I get it, the world's gotta function, but it couldn't hurt too terribly to just stop and catch our breath here and there, eh?

Sunday's are going to be very minimal posts in this little adventure, and each of them will include a #SundaySelfie (that's "hashtag Sunday selfie," when you say it aloud) at the end of the blog. Why you ask? Because there simply aren't enough photos of me. Duh.

Ooo, I think I'll also include a quote or passage or poem or whatever to help start the week off--look at me making things up on the fly! Today's comes from George Saunders' Tenth of December, a collection of short stories that was nominated for the National Book Award this year. So, if I may, enjoy a delightful picture of me and this quaint, powerful quote.

Archie scratched my forehead, is ass hat.

"Why were we put here, so inclined to love, when end of story = death? That harsh. That cruel. Do not like."

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