The kind of person I am:
I never watched a single episode of the following on television. Nothing, that is, except for the first 10 minutes of the first episode and the last 10 minutes of the final episode.
There’s no way he could have survived. . . right?
So, which literary luminary’s cult would you join?
I definitely wouldn’t join Thoreau’s. I’m not into camping or roughing it, and everyone knows Thoreau was just some 19th century hipster poseur who, if alive today, would be living in Portland on his own farm brewing his own bathtub gin and screaming about killing your own meat and growing your own veggies and never bathing. Pass.
I couldn’t drink enough to keep up with any of the Russians.
As for Dickens, well, he makes me want to kill myself not other people. Besides, he had his own cult, they were called Progressives and now live quite happily across the country as liberals. I’d only join if I could be called the Artful Dodger.
The Sylvia Plath people would be just too… emo for me.
No, I’d join the Norton Juster cult and live my life in the Lands Beyond like in the Phantom Tollbooth. Now, time to go find myself a watch dog, humbug, and whether man and I’m all set. According to Juster, “So many things are possible just as long as you don’t know they’re impossible.” Now tell me runners, is this not a sentiment we all live by?
On your long run this week, consider who’s cult you’d join and why and let me know.