Man, yesterday was terrible. I don't know what it was, but I haven't felt so low in a very long time. I don't have much to say about it. Today has been much better thusfar. The difference? I don't really know. But my advice: Ecclesiastes was not written to be read on days like those. You should read it when you are very happy and can afford to be disheartened a bit.
So, last night around 8pm, I decided to take Les Miserables up to Starbucks and read alone for a while - to finally get out of the house and breathe some different air. Oh, it was fine - but the two guys next to me were raging about some local missionary's comment about the Tsunami being a judgement from God...or possibly so that the countries would be opened for missionaries (he didn't seem to know exactly what had been said...). I couldn't help but look on in astonishment at how arrogantly and confidently one can speak (and with such profuse profanity) of what they know nothing of. His mordant cynicism labored against him as he spoke and I felt strange pity for him. I noted the way he stared at the pretty girls...in a way that made me shiver...dark soul.
About 30mins later, the scene around me changed - the 2 guys left and I enjoyed a moment alone in the corner before slowly but surely the self-acclaimed "outcasts" surrounded me. They actually humored me a bit. I admit that at this point, I was averaging a paragraph per hour in my book which had been replaced by the live poetry of the insecure disenchantment of youth. What a sight they were - tattood and peirced, "brusque" and crude - They were slow to laugh at the jokes made of matters unknown to them. It seems that something in them was afraid to write Jesus off to silly superstition quite yet. They didn't have the same air of depravity that the first guy did...and I almost enjoyed the distraction.
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