Am I the only one who, if somebody sits in your chair when you’re gone then leaves it all warm and almost… moist… that you feel violated? Even a teensy bit?
You have no idea how cathartic it feels to finally write that sentence. You know why? Cause I can write anything at all. I’ve been so damn busy working, dispatching requests, complaints, and repair orders, not to mention keeping a log of every damn key in this hotel, that I haven’t had a half a chance to say “here is this random bit of non-information flitting through my idle mind.” There is no idle mind.
Many yogis have said that the highest knowledge is arrived at by meditating on the meaning of nothingness. To them I say: also, my hair seems very flat today.