Stirrings

My congestion has slowly ebbed, been hacked away largely in the inky depths of night. My wife was pondering her next novel and I brought down a number of suggestions, one of which was V by Pynchon. She didn't pick that one but i wound up taking it to bed to read all of four pages before collapsing asleep. I awoke thinking that maybe samizdat would've benefited from another Pynchon as opposed to the marble dome of ideas in Norfolk's historical set piece of ideas. No worries. I did pick up a copy of Young Stalin today at Half Price and this could alter my schedule for a while.