bah humbug

Posted on Posted in journal, pre-crash

It's around this time every year I start seriously contemplating life as a hermit. Or a recluse. I'd make an excellent recluse. (Yeah, yeah, I hear the resounding cries: You do a passable imitation for most of the year anyway, Deb…. Hush. Quiet in the galleries already.)

Last night's dream involved me explaining, in patient and excruciating detail, why you couldn't name an eskimo Deborah. (I don't know why, but for some reason in my head Jodi was determined to do precisely this.) It was a true corker of a theory, mind you, tying in the evolution of the Hebrew language and the nature of deserts and date trees and palms and oases and desert foxes and bats (are there bats in the desert?), and even Jesus. I can't quite remember the details, and for that we can all be grateful. Except dream-Jodi, I suppose, who was left with an unnamed eskimo.

No, I don't know the way my head works either. Just be grateful you don't have to live in it!

2 thoughts on “bah humbug

  1. Assuming one has the Internet, or at least a good supply of books, modern hermit life is quite enjoyable. 😉

    Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is the richness of self. – May Sarton

  2. I know. Far more enjoyable than is good for me, actually! I like that quote, too. I always think of Huck Finn when it comes to the question of loneliness; I think he had some special line drawn between being lonely, and being lonesome. It's always made sense in my head anyways 😉

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