eons of peons

Seasons are c-razy.

Thursday

A tattered paperback.

I don't have a lot of free-time. I've redefined my idea of a light week to 60 hours at the hospital rather than 80. I'm not looking for sympathy here, I've made my bed, and I love rolling around in it.

...

What I am looking for is a little understanding of why I've been reading a 202-page book since this summer, and am still a few pages shy of the halfway mark.

In case any free-time rears its lusty head, I've been toting Salinger's Franny and Zooey around in my messenger bag for the past six months. I'll read a couple pages here and there. This morning I noticed it's multiple battle scars while packing my lunch. I knew I wouldn't get to it today, so I took it out of my bag so that it may live for me to finish it.

A few hours later, J.D. Salinger died.

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