158/365: We are very tired
The scene tugged at a longing.
I'm a planner. I like lists.
Most weeks, I sit down with my foodie magazines to plan my weekly menu and the accompanying grocery list on my laptop. The menu goes into Google Calendar, the grocery list into the Wunderlist desktop app which syncs onto my iPod Touch.
Most weeks, there will be at least three bottles of Diet Coke in my trolley. I drink the stuff like water.
I spent the day in the Redmond Barry Reading room with all university students (majority on Macs) and the odd mature person (I count myself one of them, old fogey that I am), working on a recommendation paper for work.
Meanwhile, across the platform from you, I stood in Melbourne's winter uniform of unrelieved blacks, head to toe.
Found this sign tacked onto a gate of a garden/cafe in the 'burbs. They must get a lot of hyper children.
I walked out the side door of one of our regional offices into the quickening evening, turned the corner and beheld this beyond the car park.
The low mist doused the area with an other-worldly, mysterious, with a touch of dark, heavy intent. One could imagine spirits walking the bare trees, even though you could see lights from the traffic on Old Geelong Road about 100, no, 200 metres away.
I wanted to go get me a Nokia N8 after I saw this ad, so seductive was its promise. Then I walked past it, and promptly forgot I ever wanted one.
Fleeting, indeed.
Mass is probably my favourite element of Catholicism. I find much comfort in the ritualistic words of Mass. There is so much beauty in it, that sometimes I find myself tearing up at critical moments.
I like to think of it as my own form of meditation. When Mass is ended, and the priest says, "Go in peace," I do.
