9/11/12
Passage from the text:
“Frodo’s pain had redoubled, and during the day things about him faded to shadows of ghostly grey. He almost welcomed the coming of night, for then the world seemed less pale and empty.”
Pg #: 207
Commentary: [R]
I think we’ve all had those sick moments (especially during allergy season when my nose becomes a faucet and my head feels like a balloon) where we’re like “I just kinda want it to stop already so... Do I get to meet Jesus today..?” Frodo is there, nighttime and his reality are synonymous. During springtime when everybody starts cutting their grass I really want to go hibernate. It’s less suicidal, more desolate, almost like a subdued desperation.
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