60% of the way to 40 days off Facebook.
In which our hero eats too much, and finds solace in pursuit of a white whale.
Can I blame Facebook lust for my plundering the fridge as a substitute? All that talk yesterday about living by the dictum “Is this getting me closer to where I want to be?” folds in the face of a cokd glass of milk and a box of cereal.
I was no more than into Chapter 1, when Melville dropped his first bomb:
Who ain’t a slave? Tell me that. Well, then, however the old sea-captains may order me about—however they may thump and punch me about, I have the satisfaction of knowing that it is all right; that everybody else is one way or other served in much the same way—either in a physical or metaphysical point of view, that is; and so the universal thump is passed round, and all hands should rub each other’s shoulder-blades, and be content.
So as you walk out the door today, ready to thump somebody, consider giving a back rub instead.
Melville didn’t live in the #meToo era, eh? Have a good day.