Bienvenido al Inferno
I must admit some measure of resistance in my heart about this week’s directives in The Artist’s Way. You see, I’m not allowed to read anything. I’ve followed this to a ridiculous degree since I read it on Friday morning in the middle of Panera, but I have what I perceive to be a very real dilemma. Thierry Henry sounded like he was ready to put his signature on the dotted line after an entire season of hemming and hawing. Rumours were flying yesterday that he was going to sign a new contract on Friday…and I can’t find out anything about it. If I lived in England, I would just strike up a conversation with my mates. Here? I have no way of knowing really. I desperately want Allyson to just research it and tell me. Or just a quick Google News search for his name. Thierry Henry. And there would be dozens of articles describing to me everything I need to know just in the effing headline.
What horseshit. Doesn’t this woman understand how important football is? Doesn’t she understand how critical to Arsenal’s hopes next year Thierry Henry is? Doesn’t she know how critically important it is that someone other than Chelsea should win the league next year?
Thank God I didn’t do this chapter during the season proper. I think I would have exploded in a puff of dammit.
Do you know how foreign it is to not read something while eating? Or taking a dump? My whole life is structured around reading. I have been voraciously reading since I was two. Even when I was too poor to eat properly, I still bought a book or two nearly every paycheck. This is some sort of Orwellian nightmare, I tell you. I’m in Farenheit 451. Welcome to my personal distopia. Welcome to Hell.
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