At the office, I read all day. I bring in books and I have the internets. I don't work. Nobody else does either. We are waiting 'til the end, which was slowly dawning on us, and is almost on top of us. Ready to devour us whole.
I've taken to listening to the Writer's Almanac on NPR, and I don't know how I feel about that. Maybe I feel dirty and ashamed. After all, I hate A Prairie Home Companion. Hate hate hate it. But this is a gentle program, filled with few pretensions save the closing quotation. I need that in my day. Sometimes it is pounding, thundering death and black metal. Sometimes swaggering Sinatra. But sometimes I really need life to be slow and quiet.
All this makes me feel like I'm coming unglued. Really. The love of the past and the love of the future seem very contradictory. So too is the harsh and the gentle. Sometimes I feel as though my head will split wide open.
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