Sunday Squibs

 I give thanks for my daily round of worries. They distract me from my looming death and its attendant worries. Is death the end, or is there more?  If more, will it be Heaven, Hell, or back to earth? If back, will it be as Homo sapiens or as Musca domestica?

College is denigrated for teaching all of the branches of knowledge, but none of the roots. That’s because we learn the roots on the job. 

Is it better to go slowly to hell or to arrive abruptly? Slowly please. I need some time to look my best. 

The philosopher says we must accept the world as it is. His cleaning lady wisely does his house when he’s at the office. 

If a bee or a spider gets in the house, I’ll catch it and set it free outside. I’d do the same for flies and mosquitos if they would only come one or two per week. 

Because it’s a valid excuse to take the day off, the lazybones enjoys being sick. 

Don’t feel bad if you’re baffled by your phone. Even two tin cans and a string can be done wrong and you figured that out. 

The world is illogical and not entertaining, except for the fictions it contains, which must be  illogical if they are to be entertaining. 

Places you’ve never been, things you’ve yet to try: figments of your imagination, motes within the eye. 

With the advancing years I imagine the books of my library flying off to other people’s shelves. 

Maintaining perfection is hard. It’s much easier to let my genes take the blame for my peccadilloes. 

It used to annoy me when someone told me an interesting story but didn’t know important details. Now I realize that’s just how the world is.