Truth Commission

If this was an accurate attemopt at my reading reality, it would spend a third of its time lamenting why I can't make up my fucking mind as to what to read next. I am besieged with ambitions and disparate interests. Last night, wrestling with a headcold (odd isn't it, i was canine ill last year during Labor day weekend), I read two chapters of the Sea Wolf, fifteen pages of The Slynx before deciding to read some Cormac. It will be the Crossing. I am also reading The Burning Tigris for samizdat and evil Doktor J, who speculates that it leisure that gave us killing fields. Humbug.