took over yesterday. I took a call from my mom, went to eat Breakf’st at B’by Barn’by’s, and then retreated to my apartment for serious game playing and book reading. Later in the day, when caught near the phone by Bryan, I admitted (to hime ande selfe), that I tend to think of everything in terms of work:
MEANING: games, books, all recreation even is assumed to be working against a deficit, a fictitious mountain I’m digging my way through. You know, before I can sit down and really enjoy other games and/or books that I really want to read/play/etc.
Today I woke ready to do things organize (which in wartime Poland–according to Maus–meant to acquire things on the black market) wash dishes clothes body submit stories poems buy paints various accoutrements for miniatures. Is time passing too quickly?
I feel like less than half the summer will I be