Scary times


The Vulgar Moralist contemplates Monday

Manic week.  I go to work, spend long hours behind a monitor, being paid to send emails back and forth.  Crazy.  I return home, and my kids are crazy.  I turn on the TV – the people who dwell there, who flicker across the magic sliver of my flat screen, they are crazy beyond redemption.

Who said that the unexamined life was not worth living?  Socrates?  He was no philosopher, he was a crazy man – who’d want to live a thoroughly random series of moments, then do it over again inside your head?

The week is finished.  It’s Halloween tomorrow.  Spooks and zombies will stumble about in the darkened corners of my neighborhood.  I’m not worried:  this is Northern Virginia, spooks and zombies come attended by their eagle-eyed, drill-sergeant parents, who rightly frighten them.  They will not eat my brains, even if they could find them.

The week is done.  I realize, uneasily, that I feel a sense of accomplishment.  I feel that I have imposed some sense of order on the brittle surface of chaos.  The work was completed.  The kids did their homework.  The TV is turned off.  I have resurrected my blog on WordPress.  Tomorrow is a day of rest.  I am content with the world.

That’s scary.


3 Responses to Scary times

  1. Emma Sivedal says:


    Just a question about the painting, do you know the title of it? I’m on the hunt for more information about that specific painting and wonder if you know more about it?


  2. Emma says:

    Thanks, that made it easier for me to find information.

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