Wednesday, February 07, 2001

Hammer Into Anvil

It's not that the days are bad, as such—simply that they are relentless, one following upon another like hammer-blows. After taking one beating all I want to do is rest—read and sleep, read and sleep, sleep—but there it is again, like a multi-car accident: no sooner has one day shuddered to a smoking halt than along comes another, screeching out-of-control into its backside WHAM! and the next WHAM! and looking down the road I see a long line, far as the eye can see, skidding and shrieking, and cannot say when the impacts might stop.

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