Guest Post by Dr. Frank Crane.
Even if your day is dull one, this post will make you smile.
Or at least smirk for a second.
The sun may be shining when you read this, but it was a dull day when it was written.
The sky is an ugly, drab smudge. There is no sun, no rain, no wind, nothing.
Across the street is a house. It is a stupid house, full of stupid people. I know them. I wish I didn't. There are many people you are sorry to have met.
It's too close to have a fire and too cold to do without one. Is there anything hollower and drearier than a fireless fireplace?
A bird is on a tree outdoors. He is not singing. His head is all drawn down into his shoulders. He is just sitting there hating himself.
A number of people have passed by the window. They are the dullest, homeliest bunch of human creatures I ever saw. I hate them all.
A crash--the hired girl has just smashed one of our best plates, an extra fine Sunday plate with gold on it. The only reason I don't go out and give her a dressing-down is because I hate to move.
Why Move? Such a day as this you are no happier anywhere than where you are. If you must be miserable why spread it around?
Old Mrs. Grumpet has just called. She has told the missus for the nth time about her troubles. She has all the diseases she has ever heard of. As soon as she hears of a new one she goes and has it. She has more symptoms than a patient-medicine almanac. And it's all along of that blue mass she took just before Austey was born. She's a dreadful vast, steamy creature.
She has left an aroma of added wretchedness in the house. We opened the window to admit some fresh air and the flies came in. I loathe flies.
I chased them with a fly-swatter and broke an expensive vase. All vases must some day be shattered, as all men must die.
All women must die too, and all children, also all dogs, cats, horses, cows, and grizzly bears. A hundred years from now everybody and everything will be dead. There will be a new crop. After awhile they, too, will die. What's the use?
The gas-stove is out of fix this morning. So am I. So is the universe.
There is no news in the paper. Newspapers are all poor. Why read? Aren't you miserable enough as you are?
I am trying to have a vacation and enjoy myself. This morning I played a game of tennis and was beaten by a poor boob that played worse than I. Then I played two games of solitaire. Lost both.
I went to the cupboard to see----. Nothing there but grape juice.
The weather is thickening. It is going to rain. It is hours and hours till bedtime.
This post was so perfect for the day I was having and was written in 1919.
Since computers weren't around then, I can only assume his published sentiments and essays were as close to a blog as they had back then.
I loved it.
Thank-you for being here.
"What is this Dull Day you speak of?"