Bricolage

I went to the Y for the fourth time this week, that is six hours total. I am curious as to why I haven't found any traction toward a new novel. I don't believe it is time on the stair-climber which mandates this haze. This evening I read the first story from The Lemon Table by Julian Barnes. Such was an immediate success.

There has been a great deal of tension at work, though such appears to be over. I have to cancel with my parents for Saturday as I would rather discuss The black Swan and Post-American Globalism with Mark as we search for Orthodox trees amidst a firing squad of Guinness pints. Sorry, dad, I don't care much for Republicans on the best of event profiles, much less late December. I think i will continue with the Barnes and crack the cover of Freeman's epic bio of Bobby Lee.