Today

Today, I did some things that I used to do, but haven't done in a long time.

I was going to make butter, but decided not to.

It'll all make sense once you're done reading this blog, assuming that anyone is reading this blog.

Today, I did some things that I used to do, but haven't done in a long time because I had forgotten about them, then remembered them because I was thinking to myself in a room with no one around and it was quiet and there was not much to think about, so these things came back to my memory, and I did them, and I was happy.

And I did not make butter because of them.

I stopped by the library, after picking up the car after having done some things. All it needed was an oil change. But, I can't tell the Ghost that, so, I'm going to say that the radiator was seriously muffed.

At first, no one was at the library, and it was 3:00 and it was going to close at 5:30, because it's Friday. I found some books that I'd like to read and was walking around when I bumped into three people I knew. They asked me what I was reading, and I was embarrassed because all the books that I'd gotten were about suffering and death, with unabashed titles like: Life and Death and A Meditation on Storytelling as an Exploration of Life and Death. They didn't know what to say, so I told them it was winter, and in the winter, one should always think about suffering. Shortly afterwards, we said goodbye, without shaking hands, or even making eye contact, just making up excuses that were clearly lies, saying: "Oh, well, gotta go clean up my cat's throw-up," or "I need to look for a book on...cellos, because I was on a vacation, and I...cellos, I need to find a book."

I began reading an essay by Arthur Shopenhauer, and although I'm not too familiar with his work, I like his pessimistic tone (his glass of buttermilk was always half empty). His writing is inundated with fascinating examples to illustrate his points:

"The pleasure in this world, it has been said, outweighs the pain; or, at any rate, there is an even balance between the two. If the reader wishes to see shortly whether this statement is true, let him compare the respective feelings of two animals, one of which is engaged in eating the other."

or:

"Time is continually pressing upon us, never letting us take breath, but always coming after us, like a taskmaster with a whip."

I was reading this essay, when I came across the line: "Of a truth, need and boredom are the two poles of human life."

I need butter in my life. I cannot afford to have butter become boring.

But both poles are suffering.

When does a need become boring? When does boredom become suffering? And finally, in order for need to exist, must its antithesis be boredom?

I once met a woman who'd started sleeping in the bathtub, while her husband lay in bed, not because they were fighting, but because she was bored.

Needless to say, I did not make butter today.