4/23

Yesterday was my day off. Sue me.

At some point in this brief but complete blog post, the type goes italic. I don't know how this happened, and I can't seem to fix it. I'm typing on my phone, and the app version of Blogger isn't very good. I suggest the reader roll with the punches and correct for the typographical discrepancy by reading the affected words while tilting at an angle ten degrees to the right of normal.

Today I'm thinking about the past, and how when we're children any one thing represents all things that are that thing. You get nosed too hard by a dog; dogs are bad. Individuals become that which they represent, and generalization is the rule of the game. You get your prejudices, good and bad, and the next step is falling on your face for them. After that comes unlearning the misprisions, and after that comes a better time.

If you think this is an introduction to a personal essay, that I'm winding around to something more emotive and profound, then reader, you are in for a disappointment. I'm just spitballing. People make whole careers out of this. We call them "Professor", and we hate their classes and their handwriting and their glasses or moustaches or tightly-wound plaits, whatever it is that's on the person we have to pay attention to. I can forgive myself this behavior, because you don't have to pay attention to me. You could be reading Wikipedia right now, and indeed their work is more enlightening than what I'm currently typing on a flat smartphone keyboard as I sit in the middle of an unused tennis court, between the inner posts of the two nets. The sun is setting on a cloudy day, and for once I'm not too hot.

Wales is very nice, by the way. Nice people, nice old people, nice (shy) cats. I talk to the middle about the latter. I also pick up litter, because it's better than if I don't, and it gives me a sense of accomplishment.

I think I'll like this--whatever this is. Fill in the blank.