I haven’t done much today besides read while in a supine position and re-arrange my furniture and closet.  When I decided to live where I do, it was in part because I wanted to experience a tiny existence.  What I suppose I didn’t realize is that things are always rushing in to fill up a life, causing it to pull at its seams.  It takes careful and constant pruning to keep things under control.

The book I am reading is really quite incredibly sad.  I cannot seem to put it down, though I question my own absorption.  At this moment I’m not sure what I’m getting from it, exactly.  And I’m not sure I will discover it anytime soon, but I have a strong suspicion that eventually I will find these words germane to… um, something.