[Backfill: Posted 5-6-2008 from an offline journal entry.]
It is 5:00 in the evening. One week ago to this hour I was undergoing my second degree O.T.O. initiation. This is my first chance to write, and only because Lisa is late for our appointment.
If I ignore all else and tell only one story from the last week, I think it will suffice and will sum it all up. On Sunday I purchased a jar of strawberry jam. Monday morning I wanted to make a PBJ sandwich to take to work. I took out the jar of jam and tried to open it. It was too tight. So I twisted harder, then harder still. Nothing. I tapped the rim of the lid with a knife blade to loosen it. Nothing. I turned the knife around and whacked it harder with the handle. Still nothing. I turned the jar upside down and whacked the bottom. Nothing. I got out the rubber helper and twisted for all I was worth. Not a damned thing - not budging. So I turned my attention to the utensils drawer to look for another tool to assault the lid with.
I heard a sudden pop, then a clank, and looked to see the lid, no longer attached to the bottle, laying askew along the top of the bottle - like a beret worn at an angle by a stylish rogue.