laundry wore me out. not sure I can extract the clean clothes from the bag.
it has only recently begun to occur to me that I might want to be embarrassed at the laundromat by my huge cache of socks. I swear it looks like I have fifty pair. I stuff them away quickly so no one will notice that although I only wash a few shirts I seem to be folding socks for a family of seven.
I can't stop eating m&m's.
sunday evening persists to this day and resists every attempt to be narrated. the mobility of shame grounds the impossibility of the rule of reason in argument. reason never persuades anyone any more than it is rational that those who happen to be born near each other love one another and believe with all their hearts in their own particular way of life. why else would god be everywhere on everyone's side if it were not that conviction follows affection rather than the rule of noncontradiction.
which is why consistency is not the prize after which I struggle even though I make every effort to make sense. the problem is that the whole revolves around an exquisite point of nonsense and this is nothing that we could or should want to be rid of even though we should in all likelihood dethrone it or at least notice that it does not strictly speaking exist. theology and negative theology meet and annihilate one another and with this both transcendence and ecstasy have no choice but to unwrite themselves at the very point at which they become possible.
then perhaps would sundays be supportable once more. as though they ever were.