We have made it to the end of another work week. There are times it seems unlikely, but, really, it's not about us, is it? The spinning world doesn't care about the argument I had with a guy about ice cream gift certificates or what name a kid wants on his diploma, or the dishes I didn't do last night. It moves ineludibly towards Friday, just as it moves ineludibly towards Monday, or towards 2023.
Don't get excited. This brief, cosmic realization of our smallness in the universe, etc., etc., does not mean I will not be swearing at other motorists the instant I get in my car this evening or seething at the people who will not stop texting in the theatre tonight. To quote Alan Bennett's People, which I had the great pleasure to see on Monday (this week? How is that possible?), "P.S.T. People Spoil Things." Have you noticed how people are just everywhere? Doing everything wrong? Uncanny.
I know that easy-going is the adjective for which we are all meant to strive (in as much as one can strive for anything while being easy-going), but I remain a great sweater of the small stuff. Indeed, I am veritably wringing wet as a direct result of the small stuff. I will probably have a fatal stroke at 54 and then a band of free-spirited, polyamorous vegans* can frolic holistically over my grave and the great karmic order will be restored.
What? There's a rule that blog posts have to be cogent? I'm pretty sure that's not a rule. There are a great many blogs. Surely they don't all make a hell of a lot of sense. Blame the Blog Bully, people. I'm just trying to show up.
This afternoon, a group of students is performing a revue of Noel Coward songs from the 20's and 30's. It doesn't get any Friday-er than that. I will be there quietly tapping my foot and trying to keep my enormous delight from bubbling over indecorously. Noel Coward, as I've mentioned, is a great favorite of mine.
*I'll have you know that was praised by a vegan this very afternoon. He looked upon my consumption of a veggie burger favorably. I do have my moments.