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a passionate repentance

Information Ice Cream

Information Ice Cream

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may God stand
When I was a little kid, I used to buy popsicles from the ice-cream man's truck that would parade slowly up and down the Arizona streets. Back then we didn't worry so much about stuff like germs, and my mom used to say things like "You have to eat a peck of dirt before you die" and "Oh, brush that bug off, he won't eat much." I liked buying those three-colored popsicles, red and white and blue because it melted the slowest and it gave you three flavors for your money instead of just one.

However I always ate mine too fast. And then I got a headache. This wierd, painful stabbing ache right over one eye, that usually went away about the same time as my tongue warmed up. "Ice cream headaches" we called 'em. And if I knew my sisters got one I'd laugh at them as mercilessly as they laughed at me.

Now, I don't eat ice cream any more. Not because I don't like ice cream but because it's expensive. And it's fattening and bad for you and all that stuff.

But there are other things to take it's place. Like true-crime websites, and this-day-in-history's and 'When bad things happen to good people' sites. Information lite. Fast to read, easy to swallow but not very substantial. And in the end when you're done reading it, you're left with the same nasty little ache over the same eye.

I thought for sure I'd be pleased that my pleasures were becoming so cerebral, but for now I'm just going to keep mum. It's better to be known as the girl who knew what gorp is than the girl who can't remember who Zachary Taylor, or when Julius Caesar died.

Not-thinking is so much easier than thinking. But it really hurts my head.
  • I scream, you scream...

    I thought I would like myself better when my pleasures started becoming more cerebral. Then I figured out that I was losing the ability to understand sensory pleasure, and I wigged out.

    Cerebral pleasures are good, yes. But they have their own sets of "calories" and "fat." And sometimes it can make you--as it has done to me--very cynical and very depressed.

    It's a strange catch-22.
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