What Went Wrong this Easter?

I will tell you: I did not eat a single Cadbury brand Creme Egg this Easter season of 2008. This is not for want of trying or lack of opportunity - I visited two CVS stores today (Sunday) and one the previous day, but all searches of their shelves proved fruitless*. I would have gone to a Grocery store or a more Reputable Confectionery had I the time, but I was busy being a human being who doesn't expect to have to buy his God Damn Easter Candy in Advance I'm Sorry. Would that I could raze this city to the ground for this (as I see it) slight against The Lord's Tradition, but I know in my hollow heart-cavity of hollow heart-cavities that the machinations of this catastrophe were of my own design, and that is the bitterest egg of all to have to swallow.




*I did find a few Cadbury Orange Creme Eggs, which is a lot like coming home from sleep-away camp to find that, in your absence, your whole family has packed up and moved away, leaving only a note on the front door that reads "sorry," and on the back of which is written "that nobody will ever fucking love you for as long as you disgrace the planet with breath in your lungs."

I Can't Tell you About That Conversation

The one that is currently wafting into earshot from the proximal open window. Part of me wishes that I could tell you, while a more rational part of me knows that by not doing so I am acting ethically and mercifully, and universally so. I wish that I weren't listening to it, but I can't bring myself to turn music on, or to close the window, or to kill myself. The conversation I am hearing is like a video of a mid-air collision at an airshow, the kind of video CNN puts next to the airshow disaster story. The kind of video that depicts at least one person losing their life, but doing so anonymously in front of people who never expected to pay admission to witness a fiery death. One can't help but press "play," and I can't help but listen. I was trying to read this seemingly-interesting article when It started, but it would appear that all hope of doing so has evaporated.

I could try to explain myself and this situation more thoroughly, doing so in a sidelong, roundabout, and excessively vague manner (a manner to which I am no stranger) but doing so would only serve to muddle information as opposed to providing it. It would also force me to deal with the information I have received in a direct, head-on matter in order to re-encode it into a form suitable for public consumption. I will simply say that This is Terrible and that I am Sorry.

Soon: drawings of robots, information about typewriters, and possibly a chapter of a book.