If Thou Could'st Empty All Thyself of Self

Everything's late. My snarky comments about American Idol.

My discovery of this.

Oh yeah. And last Tuesday, we found out our already dilapidated house that has been sitting vacant for almost a year that we've been trying to sell was vandalized and ended up with three feet of water in its basement. The adjusters come tomorrow, along with a Service Master team to try to get out as much water and kill as much mold as they can as quickly as possible. And my husband made a casual comment with his head down when he left this morning that it might be better if they just condemn it. I can't imagine something more sad.

And then I think it's shitty that something like this has to happen to really bring home just a fraction of the emotion people must have felt after Hurrican Katrina. They lost their homes -- the fabric of their lives, literally; family homesteads, even if they might seem substandard for some, are anchors for people -- and I feel like a self-indulgent cunt.

Speaking of cunts, wow, it's too bad that Hayley Scarnato was elimated.

I did not just type that.

Compassionate, yet irrationally mean. I am so small, and full.

If Thou could'st empty all thyself of self

If thou could'st empty all thyself of self,
Like to a shell dishabited,
Then might He find thee on the ocean shelf,
And say, "This is not dead,"
And fill thee with Himself instead.

But thou are all replete with very thou
And hast such shrewd activity,
That when He comes He says, "This is enow
Unto itself - 'twere better let it be,
It is so small and full, there is no room for me."

~Sir Thomas Brown