Long weekend blues
Is there a long weekend in your near future? Great. I hope you enjoy it. Well, the beginning part, at least. Because it will end badly. I guarantee you.
You will travel for five hours across land and sea, stopping (of course) to buy a typewriter on the way home. You will foolishly pick up a hundred-year-old typewriter and carry it up four flights of stairs the same week you get into a car accident. Your back will hate you for life. You will find that you have not one, but two keys to the outside of your building on your keychain. And not one, but NONE to your actual suite.
You will also find that your roommate is not coming home until tomorrow night; your neighbour gave you back your spare key last year, remember?; your best friend who would have offered you a place on his futon, and helped you see the humour in all this has moved to Slovakia; and your other friends are all out of town because, hey, IT'S A LONG WEEKEND.
You will also find that you have to lug all your belongings back down the stairs with your hateful back hating you all the way. You will get your hand stuck in, and subsequently cut yourself on your newly-acquired, rust-covered typographical device. You will remember (surprisingly and suddenly) that your tetanus shot expired last year, and you will know that tomorrow morning, after a night of sleeping in your compact car in your crime-ridden neighbourhood, you will have a gangrenous stump where you once had a finger.
Then you will call Lisa, and she will extend the radical welcome of Christ to you, and offer you clean linens and the most comfortable couch known to mangokind.
Just want you to be prepared.
~g.mango is an alarmist and a prophetess all in one
You will travel for five hours across land and sea, stopping (of course) to buy a typewriter on the way home. You will foolishly pick up a hundred-year-old typewriter and carry it up four flights of stairs the same week you get into a car accident. Your back will hate you for life. You will find that you have not one, but two keys to the outside of your building on your keychain. And not one, but NONE to your actual suite.
You will also find that your roommate is not coming home until tomorrow night; your neighbour gave you back your spare key last year, remember?; your best friend who would have offered you a place on his futon, and helped you see the humour in all this has moved to Slovakia; and your other friends are all out of town because, hey, IT'S A LONG WEEKEND.
You will also find that you have to lug all your belongings back down the stairs with your hateful back hating you all the way. You will get your hand stuck in, and subsequently cut yourself on your newly-acquired, rust-covered typographical device. You will remember (surprisingly and suddenly) that your tetanus shot expired last year, and you will know that tomorrow morning, after a night of sleeping in your compact car in your crime-ridden neighbourhood, you will have a gangrenous stump where you once had a finger.
Then you will call Lisa, and she will extend the radical welcome of Christ to you, and offer you clean linens and the most comfortable couch known to mangokind.
Just want you to be prepared.
~g.mango is an alarmist and a prophetess all in one
POSTED BY G. MANGO at 16:20
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