Scene of the crimeSo there I was in my bedroom, minding my own business, when I heard a loud bang. It was loud enough that I thought I should investigate and find out what the hell was going on.
After the initial noise, I heard what sounded like running water.
Oh great, I thought, a pipe burst.
No, it wasn't a ruptured pipe, but rather the glass in my sliding glass door shattering into billions of pieces.
Great! Just what I needed!
Luckily, the glass is double paned and it was only the outside piece that fragmented.
I have no idea what caused the glass to break and I am not going to open the door to try to find out. A nice man will come, clear away the broken glass and eventually replace it with a new piece of glass and life will be peaceful. But not in thousands of pieces.
1 comment:
God.
No. This is not an exclamation. This is an answer to your question you didn't ask. And wisely so.
Your little story. Or not so little story in that it elicited rather big emotions of the investigatory type is an excellent means of elucidating "God" as a theoretical construct.
Firstly, God as sadist. Boom. Out of nowhere, God smites the sitting-there-minding-your-own- business innocent bystander.
Secondly, God comes to clean it all up.
Thank God for God. He's always there when you need him.
Like a plane crash where the one survivor exclaims "God took care of me" and thus implicitly argues "God didn't really care for the rest of those jerks sitting round me", chance and adaptation sneak their way around spooking us into thinking, "God".
What, this has nothing to do with your experience.
Sorry I guess I just didn't know what else to say. But I figure, who does, and that doesn't keep their mouths shut.
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