I just finished reading an email from a friend. He, in turn, had just finished reading a batch of my blog entries.
He’s on the road. I’m his time killer. I like that I can fill that need.
He finished the email saying:
A bizarre life?
You can let me know in the comments if you think he’s right, but I think he misspoke (not in the Hillary Clinton sense). My life isn’t bizarre. It’s just unusually full, exceedingly unstructured and heavily documented.
Here’s part of the email he got in return.
Sometimes that may lead me to do out-of-the-ordinary things, but bizarre?
I like to know why things happen. The only way to do that is have context. That’s why I read so much – nearly always point based essays of article length and seldom books, which by virtue of their size are usually less sharply defined.
Please don’t feel bad for me or think he was taking a dig. Nothing could be further from the truth. I take the “bizarre” characterization as a compliment. Indeed, I’m pretty sure it was meant that way.
What better endorsement of your life is there than to say it’s bizarre, the opposite of mundane?