Early Monday morning, before the sun had parted the curtains, I rose from bed with an ache in my text. It was so bad that I woke my companion and reader. She checked me out and swiftly took me to a writer’s clinic, where I was diagnosed with inflammation of the appendix. We rushed off to an editorial edifice to request an emergency intervention. There a scanning machine performed a three-dimensional exegesis to assess my tract for textual corruption. I was soon laid out upon a table where a crack team of editors excised my appendix and then stuck me back together with bionic library paste.
So here I am, appendix laparoscopically deleted, table of contents still incomplete (as it should be), narrative as yet unfinished, its denouement as nebulous as ever, and I am quite content that it should be so. I have been recovering with rather alarming speed and my family will soon no longer feel the urge to spoil me. There's a downside to everything. salud, Paul -- ----- |(*,+,#,=)(#,=,*,+)(=,#,+,*)(+,*,=,#)| --- http://paulhertz.net/
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