Skip to main content

Sunday Starters #6

I lack perseverance, and last week's starter didn't get much action. But I will continue and hope that maybe the rest of the world was as busy as I was this past week.

For this week:

When I roll over and look at the clock...



From last week's post:

It wouldn't have made any difference if...
...she'd picked the top bunk or the bottom bunk. Either way, this was going to be a miserable week at camp.

(bonus points goes to anyone who knows the song that starter came from)

Comments

  1. ...I wonder how much longer can I stay in bed and still get ready in time!
    Sorry I did not post in you last starter but it just did not resonate with me. Could not think of what to say.

    ReplyDelete
  2. ...I count how many hours of sleep I could potentially get should I fall asleep now....now....okayyy....NOW!

    (My Sunday Starters debut!)

    ReplyDelete
  3. ... groan, turn off the 1st alarm, fall back asleep, get woken up by the 2nd alarm, turn it off, fall back asleep, get woken up by the 3rd alarm by which I actually have to get up or else I'd be in big trouble.

    (My clock is my cell phone and rather than using snooze, I just set 3 alarms 10 min apart. I don't know why I do this but it works. I know, I'm bizarre.)

    ReplyDelete
  4. I think I hate getting up at an hour that starts with a 5. Then I wonder what wild and crazy stuff I'll see and do at my wild and crazy job. Perhaps I should watch the morning news and see what the folks have been up to overnight.

    ReplyDelete
  5. I realize that I have 15 minutes to leave the house

    ReplyDelete
  6. ... I smile to myself at thought that I'm about to fall asleep as other's are just waking up

    ReplyDelete
  7. Anonymous2:36 AM

    ...I somehow convince myself that the morning routine that take me 45 minutes every other day can definitely be done in 36 minutes today. (My snooze is 9 minutes...)

    ReplyDelete
  8. ...I put my book down and gasp, is it really that time!!!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Simone Weil: On "Forms of the Implicit Love of God"

Simone Weil time again! One of the essays in Waiting for God  is entitled "Forms of the Implicit Love of God." Her main argument is that before a soul has "direct contact" with God, there are three types of love that are implicitly  the love of God, though they seem to have a different explicit  object. That is, in loving X, you are really loving Y. (in this case, Y = God). As for the X of the equation, she lists: Love of neighbor  Love of the beauty of the world  Love of religious practices  and a special sidebar to Friendship “Each has the virtue of a sacrament,” she writes. Each of these loves is something to be respected, honoured, and understood both symbolically and concretely. On each page of this essay, I found myself underlining profound, challenging, and thought-provoking words. There's so much to consider that I've gone back several times, mulling it over and wondering how my life would look if I truly believed even half of these thi...

I Like to Keep My Issues Drawn

It's Sunday night and I am multi-tasking. Paid some bills, catching up on free musical downloads from the past month, thinking about the mix-tape I need to make and planning my last assignment for writing class. Shortly, I will abandon the laptop to write my first draft by hand. But until then, I am thinking about music. This song played for me earlier this afternoon, as I attempted to nap. I woke up somewhere between 5 and 5:30 this morning, then lay in bed until 8 o'clock flipping sides and thinking about every part of my life that exists. It wasn't stressful, but it wasn't quite restful either...This past month, I have spent a lot of time rebuffing lies and refusing to believe that the inside of my heart and mind can never change. I feel like Florence + The Machine 's song "Shake it Out" captures many of these feelings & thoughts. (addendum: is the line "I like to keep my issues strong or drawn ?" Lyrics sites have it as "stro...

Esse - Czeslaw Milosz

I'm on a bit of a poetry binge this week, and Monday afternoon found me lying on the luxurious shag rug of a friend's tiny apartment, re-reading some of my favourite poets (ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Czeslaw Milosz). It is an adventure to re-open a collection and wonder what will pop out, knowing something you've read before will strike you afresh, or you will be reminded of a particularly moving line that you had somehow forgotten. Like this piece from Milosz, which floors me. Every. damn.* time. The first time I read it, I lay in a park with a friend (this same friend who offered me her rug as my reading burrow) and demanded that I share it with her. I spoke it carefully, and then, into the post-reading silence, I slammed the book shut, and dropped it as loudly as I could onto the grass. "I'm never reading anything again," I declared, "What else is there to say?" Esse I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro st...