Waffling in THREE dimensions.

Sunday, January 28, 2007


I am greedily shoving cheerios in my mouth; I don't have much time. It's nearly eight, you see. Time to get ready for church. This makes it difficult to type, the time constraints and sticky sugar fingers are quite hefty. I did not go shopping yesterday, I did not do anything yesterday. It was Double XP weekend. It's like spring break for Paragon City. Servers are stressed out, there's a bug that let's you fly under the map, pretty fun stuff. It's the most solid rational for social starvation I've ever heard. Glorious! Unfortunately, I have not come across Peter in game, which is saddening. I thought Jon would take this time to shower, but I sounds like he's shaving. I "should" probably do that, but I won't. It's cold, why expose my face to the harsh elements? I maintain my stance that Jesus had a beard, I am being Christlike by not shaving. They are stupid rules for a stupid place. I hear stories on the radio of town imposing curfews, enabling the harassment of children by police, like a nightly hunting season. I am making a mess with my cheerios. They'll know it was me. I'm the only one who sits here, with a computer. The only one who eats cheerios. The only one who doesn't pick up his messes right away. Usually I do with cheerios, because they smash and crumble, a whole fiasco of vacuuming to be unleashed. Jon is almost done with his shower; he spends the last minute with the water turned to cold. He imagines there is some great health to this, but it is foolishness. What is good that makes you cry out so? I thought for a moment, roller coasters, but this is a fallacy, for they would let the elderly and infirm on if it were a positive experience. That can't be said that such horrible things are not enjoyable, as certainly the case is with roller coasters, but such a change in temperatures gives me headaches. I with use a heuristic to conclude that it has something to do with his Canadian origin.

I had sat down to write something grand, as I tend to imagine all things with alliteration are. But I fear that I have not made a smooth enough transition to it, that I may forget it all together. Can I force it out? No, it would be out of context. Perhaps I shall write this as a reminder of that thing I thought of while walking to the bathroom this morning before noticing that Jon had left the John in a stinker, that it should be written down. Should I remember in that brief time between sacraments and home teaching, I hope to write it down. Though it is unlikely, as I still must read the message to prepare, highlight the brief passage I find worthy enough to share but not so meaningful as to require a lengthy discussion (1 hour tops!). It was something about diverging and coherence, and the grim pronouncement of such. There was something about lambda, which can wait, and something about being a man. None of which I will probably write, though I felt compelled to, as I will be consumed by the Double XP, the rush of achievement and some small satisfaction, following by disappointment and a ripple of loathing that I could not expel myself from a fantasy long enough to give "serious" consideration (it is writing down a list of careers, some of which are jobs, that we might find interesting) to my future, among other assignments I will certainly derelict. Derelict, pronounced ala Zoolander, is Jon's nickname for me. I perfer it to that of 'D', which was so graciously bestowed upon me, not once, but twice, in unrelated events, by people thinking they were both hip and witting in giving me a moniker that was my first initial! I am speaking of my sister, Amanda, and an estranged friend/coworker/(colleague?) Anesh. While they might have been clever, on the whole, neither was in this instant or hip. Given that Jon has just departed, a whole 40 minutes before it begins, I should give heavy consideration to preparation now. I may never understand such zeal. I cannot contain an interest in anything for more than a week, with snakes on planes being an exception though I never felt it as so consuming a passion as is displayed toward church attendance here. For myself, it is largely compulsory, as the fellowship is mediocre, and at times, dank. This is compounded by attendence being compulsory, while I did chose the school I did so a great deal more for financial reasons (they have meeting houses everywhere, and anywhere else being LDS could be a symbol of pride, deference, anything but obligatory) rather than for a desire to be surrounded by the saints or some bull. I tend to fight, rather struggle, against whatever is heft upon me, which is enhanced greatly by my perception of the superficiality of the consignment. The Honor Code, upon which we are counseled weekly
, is, as I see it, a sort of contractual document, the manifest by which they may abort the unworthy and rebellious. It is an order of obedience and accountability, endorsed by a board of shadowy figures, that as I understand is made up of church authorities such as the First Presidency. Isn't it weird that its first and not onest or something? Anyways, I find it hard to believe that our salvation relies in any degree upon the trends of our beards. Why then, do we grow them? God has given us a part of the body for the sole reason of the maintenance of it? Far-fetched. While the personification of our salvation, of God's love, sports a beard in his mortal existence, we must shave our faces from earlobe to earlobe? It is absurd and against the book of Leviticus. I tire of it, but I must be preparing for church. Once again, I seem to have forgotten to read the sunday school lesson ahead of time. Darn..

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