So I’m standing at the bathroom sink last night getting ready for bed and, for no reason I can fathom, the name “Kurt Vonnegut” pops into my head. I have not thought about him, nor had his name pop into my head, in years — probably a decade or more — nor would I have any reason to.
And I think, what must he be up to? Seriously, I spent about ten minutes thinking about this guy and what his daily routine must be as what I assumed is a “retired” or “elderly” writer. How does he spend his days? What does he think about? And so on…
It was a curous set of thoughts; I waded through them, and then, just as quickly as they came, I let them pass.
Then, this morning when I got to the office, this:
I may have some set of undefined special powers. I must explore this further…
Anyway, I met him once, a little over 20 years ago. He spoke at my university, and agreed to do a “meet-and-greet” immediately afterward. For some reason, I was the first one to show up, and we had a few minutes of inconsequential chitchat (and an autograph) before the horde found the room. It was special to me.
So it goes.
If you’re reading this because you saw the link on Buzzfeed, well, first — welcome.
Second, you really ought to back right up and click the next link down. This certainly deserves a higher ranking than my weak little entry, even if it is on the Huffington Post. Seriously, it’s a really nice essay.
Thanks for visiting.
The internets are just.
This post is now ranked above mine, as it should be.