I was walking along to orchestra rehearsal on Monday evening, day-dreaming. A still, small voice broke into my daydream, "Excuse me!" In the doorway of the house I was passing, stood an elderly lady. "Excuse me, dear..."
"Yes?" I replied, as smiling, I walked down the driveway towards her.
"What day is it, please?" she asked.
"Wednesday?" I mustn't have spoken loudly & clearly enough.
"No, sorry, it's Monday."
"Ah. I didn't know. I wasn't sure. And it seemed more like a Sunday..."
"Ah," I smiled at her, "that's because it's a bank holiday today. It's bank holiday Monday - some services aren't on as usual."
"Oh." She seemed to relax a little. "Bank holiday Monday. Thank you. Thank you, dear."
Returning to my path, someone else's struggle with unreality had broken in and exposed my daydreaming for the degenerate, dangerous thing it was: a struggle with unreality. To be fought, not fostered. While I was harbouring unreality in my mind, that dear lady was fighting to have her mind correspond to reality. I know which the gospel would have us do...
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