There is simply too much to read. There are seven unread library books sitting in the armoire next to the (mostly) unused TV, the novel I’m currently reading, the stacks of books I’ve bought within the last year or so and have not read yet (Dalva, Jemima J, Bones of the Moon, The Big U, etc.), the daily newspaper that languishes and turns a brittle yellow from being left out in the sun too long every day, the work-related articles and journals, and on and on. I try to read about a half dozen blogs/online journals every day, ones that I’ve either read for years and feel attached to, or that amuse me or educate me on a regular basis. Every night around this time I feel the press of sleep behind my eyes, but my brain is shouting, “No! Not yet! Not enough reading time today!”

Tonight I sat outside in the plum-colored twilight and read until the light was too faint. The birds (swallows, I think) that live somewhere nearby came to skim the surface of the pool, opening their beaks to drink as they passed by, missing my head by mere nano-inches. Based on the amount of chemicals in the pool, they must have a genetic predisposition to extinction.