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austerity 3: write a schedule

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Still haven’t broken the news of our imminent breakup to the good doctor, who’s still on holiday,  but yeah I’m leaving psychoanalysis. Not only does it cost too much money (I go the private route here, ugh) but it does have a tendency to weigh my weeks down with non-stop existential crisising, when really I’d be better served, you know, putting my head-down and working and being decent to those that I love. And I’ve already decided something to replace it with. No! Not more booze!

Sex with strangers, of course.

Just kidding. Ahem.

But here’s on thing that psychoanalysis did give me a bit of insight on. I’m a little hard on myself. No! I am! I’ve learned a bit about where this all started, but I’m not fixed yet. Beyond all the other mental murk and mutter, there’s one persistent fantasy that drives me mad, that makes me exceptionally mad at myself. And that is the fantasy of strict efficiency, of optimal organisation, of using my time so very wisely that it hurts.

As they say in the supermarket business, my life feels like it is defined by shrink. I get these blocks of time to work, I’ve always had these blocks of time to work, and I persistently underfulfil! Despite the things I’ve done, the things I’ve earned, I am convinced way down deep that I am an incorrigble slacker, that I’ve not spent a day correctly since I was in college. Back then, wow, did I work. Day after day after day, my now-wife and I sat in the library reading and reading and reading. I have a terrible sense that ever since then, I’ve been coasting on those four years of hard labor, spent without a social life (Friday we’d go to a movie and eat some pizza, and once in awhile we’d drive up to Montreal and drink on a hotel room balcony), without friends, mostly without drink,  but with reams and reams of literary and language study and papers so exquisite that they stopped marking them at a certain point.

Downhill, downhill, since then. Perhaps more rapidly lately. Perhaps more rapidly since the advent of psychoanalysis?

Here’s my dream day, the day that I intend to have but never do.

7:00 – Wake, quickly read the IHT front to back while eating a healthy breakfast and entertaining my older daughter, who gets up at 7 AM every. single. day. It used to be a problem getting up this early, but not since kids. Left alone I still am lucky to make it past 6:30 without waking. But generally I fuck around on the internet after parking my kid in front of Ceebeebies. I drink loads of coffee but eat nothing.

8:50 – Leave for work. I take a bus and then the underground. During this time I should read something pleasureable yet useful. Check on this part of late – I do read during the commute, at least lately.

9:30 – Begin working, preferably writing, and preferably somewhere condusive to this sort of work, such as a library or my office. Generally, this doesn’t happen, at least not smoothly. I check email, I check blogstats and comments, I continue reading that pleasurable but useful commuting book, I do other things. I do these things and then I smoke a cigarette, and another, and further I’ve pre-convinced myself, tacitly, to work somewhere where it’s easy to jump out for a cigarette (i.e. Starbucks). Trashy. Only hours in, or so it feels, do I finally buck up and get to the actual work at hand.

12:30 – Have lunch. As a rule of thumb, though, unless a woman makes me have lunch, I will not have lunch. This goes back to the beginning, to mom of course. Today somehow, someway, and with no woman present, I purchased a double cheezburger with bacon at Burger King and ate it, ate it standing up. American-style fast food is the only thing that can break the needs-a-woman curse. At a boozy end-of-term party, a female colleague actually fixed me a plate of food – I have the look of a man who does not eat unless a female implores him too. This is a blessing and a curse at once.

13:00 – Resume work. If I have written well in the morning, which I never do, this is a good time to read Hard Books. Instead, this is the time that I either continue smoking or actually get to the writing I was supposed to do in the morning but didn’t quite do.

15:00 – Shift gears and write some fiction. This is what I did last summer, and it yielded something at once unpublishable but that I was proud of. This is the first time that I should be allowed to step into Starbucks, but unfortunately I’ve generally already been in three or four of them by this point.

17:30 – Head home. Read morning book or freepapers (I have no problem with the freepapers! Some people don’t get this but they are totally wrong!) during train trip home.

18:00  – Enter home, eat dinner, entertain oldest daughter, bond with infant daughter. This generally happens, there’s no choice in the matter really, though tonight my wife was an absolute saint and allowed me to have nap while she bathed and bedded the children. Absolutely saintly, that sort of gesture….

20:00 – Watch entertaining yet edifying programme with my wife, probably downloaded illegally, as this is Britain and there’s nothing on, ever. As if, though, the kids are all snug in their beds by 8 PM!

22:00  – Head to bed to continue reading my commuting book. Now, herein lies a major problem. The major problem. Generally speaking, this is when the lagering starts and the reading and writing stop. Except, um, blogposts. I should go to bed, I should read in bed and then go to sleep. I should not maintain some sort of fiction, as I head ever more deeply into middle age, that this is When The Writing Happens. Because it doesn’t. Except for blogposts. Like this one.

Written by adswithoutproducts

August 28, 2009 at 12:43 am

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37 Responses

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  1. Lovely post! Although I think you should reconsider this sentence

    “as this is Britain and there’s nothing on, ever, with my wife”

    I collect and have a thing for the lists of “books I’m reading” on blogs and the such. You’ve currently got twenty-five there, including three by Lefebvre and two by Ballard. So I’m assuming this is not literally true, right? You’re not reading all these books at the same time. Or perhaps these are the books you have around you, are playing with or writing about. Either way, I wonder how you feel that the list itself, and your act of making it public, might intersect with the ideas about work and schedules that you’ve raised.


    August 28, 2009 at 7:24 am

  2. Ha! Ooops! I fixed it… I suppose that I should have scheduled in exquisite moments of raw carnality, but I thought I’d leave that bit implicit.

    Yeah the list in the sidebar is a not quite exhaustive list of stuff that I have read or at least have been reading since, well, I put up that thing in the sidebar. I put it up there to encourage me to read / finish more, as it’s nice to have a box to tick… Plus, like you from the sounds of it, I like it when people do that sort of thing…


    August 28, 2009 at 7:38 am

  3. I suppose that I should have scheduled in exquisite moments of raw carnality

    Those are best left unscheduled, no? Unless you buy into the idea of Business Time:


    August 28, 2009 at 7:43 am

  4. Scheduled or unscheduled, is all OK by me.

    Yeah – that was one of the songs that make FotC so worthwhile.


    August 28, 2009 at 7:54 am

  5. Used to be our neighbours don’t you know.


    August 28, 2009 at 7:57 am

  6. The great British government wants to cut your internet off for illegal downloading. Perhaps it would be for the best, since then you would have no excuse to avoid work. Though when I think about it, life without the internet is meaningless.


    August 28, 2009 at 1:33 pm

  7. Alternative Schedule:

    10pm: Ads and K-Punk meet at the pub for serious intellectual discussion and start hitting the drink. Things start getting a bit ugly around 10:45, before all is saved when Infinite Thought and Anglofille enter the pub on a Girl’s Night Out.

    “Blimey,” sez K-Punk, “get a load of those birds!”

    “Yeah but I’m married,” sez Ads; “and so you are now, right?”


    The girls roll their eyes at the two drunken lunatics and continue with their discussion of Swedish post-modern feminist architecure. The guys continue drinking, before Ads gets a text message.

    “Oh fuck, it’s the wife,” Ads sez. Wair te fck r u? Not drinkin wiv that KPnk agen?

    [Any resemblance to people’s living or undead is entirely coincidental]


    August 28, 2009 at 2:17 pm

  8. The schedule reminded me somewhat of Jerome Weidman, as in ‘What’s In It for Me?’ and ‘I Can Get It for You Wholesale?’ He’s one of those dated writers that one ought not neglect; if you are neglecting him, you probably are speeding through life somewhat improperly. You don’t get a better Garment District anywhere, but it does seem as though you are successfully realizing that exquisite pain of setting up schedules that you would not keep for the world. In fact, the deep desire for Constant Cigarettes is most convincing, as it proves that there alone can you feel totally comfortable in never stopping flitting around. Because, there is smoking cigarettes and then there is smoking cigarettes. You do it to flit around in good conscience; I do it when I wish to inaugurate telepathic sex parties with my unidentified admirers (yeah, they finally just gave it upm because Oriental hackers made some of the less palatable aspects impracticable). When the party does not swerve toward the promising, i smoke only half a cigarette and get mildly depressed, and that is my only cigarette for the day.

    Cigarettes are forms of dessert. Only Catherine DeNeuve and I know how to execute this properly. On the other hand, smoking to be able to escape the work ethic in which you are currently engaged (both), is *cool*, you know… What I fail to understand about your self-abuse more than any of the other aspects, is the belief that Starbucks has edible food.

    It does not.

    Its sandwiches are passable, but its cakes have too much salt in them, and they have never been freshly baked on the premises. These will cancel out your healthy breakfast. If you search hard enough you can find such puddings as Sussex Pond Pudding, Queen of All Puddings, and not least, Spotted Dick, which I eat in an alleyway near Battersea quite frequently–and I don’t mean the Herpes. Otherwise, a Mars Bar or just a plate of grapes will form a better pudding than those so-called ‘crumb cakes’ that Starbucks purveys.

    But how do we answer the question ‘Does psychoanalysis or its conclusion offer better opportunities for anomie? Will anhedonie just as surely result from the cessation of therapy as it does from its performance?’ Because we know that secretly everybody wants anomie, which alone is the key to the palace of wisdom, along with excess.

    You have not outlined a day of anomie and excess. We think that this is because therapy has told you that you must accept things as being inaccessible (such as fiction begun at too late an age), when the fact is that at the core of therapy is a deep lie: that the nightmare is the same for everyone. Now that’s just not true. Some people have it really good. In slacking off the way you do, you are finally learning the secret to a rich, full life. You must not ‘do your work’ as you yourself outline it. We do not know whether you are equipped for the bliss that lies beyond therapy. Oh sure, there is talk of ‘alternate realities’ all over the internet, but it’s usually just more fiddling with the internet. It has been my experience that Virilio was incorrect about the diesppearance of urban concentrations, even when they become decentered and riddled with unemployment.

    We are aware that your therapy has caused you to overschedule your days to the degree that you cannot write out a dream day that is not exactly like the ones you already have. Now, while this is an admirable literary conceit, it may not translate into a Travel & Leisure sort of existence. You clearly are succeeding on the path toward a more chaotic life which lies beyond therapy, but will you be able to take that risk?

    The previous poster wrote that ‘life without the internet is meaningless’, much like the old 90s phrase PONI (Persons of No Importance), but it has also not been our experience, except in a few cases, that the bestlooking people are always on the internet. There are a small number of exception.

    We suggest that therapy has been destroying your life if you don’t stop it. If you did, you would have more time for dated novels and other period pieces in all the Arts. Most people do not know how to read period novels unless they are paid to do it, as for the TLS, or more frequently as in the NYRB, when there have been known to be persons capable of reading the Complete Works of Newt Gingrich. this has never been done as a hobby on a Dream Day.

    informal economy

    August 28, 2009 at 4:28 pm

  9. Blimey…. what a dreadfully hard life…no wonder you need psychoanalysis with all the stress you seem to be under, what with a state-subsidised job, summer months with very little teaching, work that involves the arduous task of reading, something lit professors hate…I really don’t know how you manage to crawl out of bed each morning.

    A. Wolf

    August 28, 2009 at 5:39 pm

  10. David,

    I always practice safe download. I use a lovely proxy service, so los federales don’t scare me much.

    And ha, yeah, it’s just like that, your scenario….


    I think you have some of the smoking down quite patly here, but I definitely don’t eat at Starbucks! I barely even drink there! One cup of coffee lasts me an entire morning, take it with me outside for a cigarette, return to work. Cheap rent, it is…

    Ok sometimes I have a croque monsieur, and sometimes they are even kinda ok, but I never eat the cakes, no.

    We are aware that your therapy has caused you to overschedule your days to the degree that you cannot write out a dream day that is not exactly like the ones you already have.Now, while this is an admirable literary conceit, it may not translate into a Travel & Leisure sort of existence.

    Ha! Amazing! You know, people have pointed out the weird formal conceit at play in this piece (“I can’t tell where the day you want separates from the day that you actually have”) but you nailed it.

    My days are growing ever more intricately complicated as time passes. Actually, this post only gets the half of it. It’s something, really something. The last paragraph is just so as well.

    Your comment may be close to my favorite comment of all time. Please keep leaving them.


    August 28, 2009 at 8:00 pm

  11. A. Wolf,

    Hmmmm. Well that’s not very nice. Let’s just be clear about a few things.

    – “state-subsidized” Well, actually, I bring in more than I cost. You may not think it’s amazing that academics have to think this way, but it is in fact amazing. I can’t explain how it works either, but I am literally bringing into the university more than they pay to, well, pay me and keep me in an office and with internet access. So, no, not state-subsidized.”

    – summer months in fact with very little teaching – that’s true. But see, there’s this expectation that I produce research. If I don’t they can fire me. So it’s sort of part of my job as well. I’d actually rather be teaching than doing what I’m doing at the moment. And if I didn’t have to publish this book I’m working on, believe me, what I have would be in a pdf in five minutes, available for download and I’d stop working on the damned thing.

    – the arduous task of reading. No, that’s not what I’m complaining about. It’s the writing that’s hard. The reading is fine and mostly pleasureable.

    – no wonder I need psychoanalysis. Well, look. I think lots of people could do with some therapy. When I look around, I’m not overwhelmed with the number of happy, well-adjusted people I see out there.

    Let’s just say, though, that to be the person who wins the struggle to get a cushy, desirable job like mine (as that’s what you think it is, yes? And I suppose that it is – hundreds of people applied for the positions I have and have had or been offered) is bound to be the sort of person that’s built a little funny, with a bit more capacity for self-punishment, just slightly higher expectations for himself, than the average guy on the street. Or even, put it this way: that the sort of person who does well in this line of work, with all its so-called free time, is the sort of person who you can trust to torture himself right through all of those unsupervised hours.


    August 28, 2009 at 8:21 pm

  12. ‘Your comment may be close to my favorite comment of all time.’

    We do appreciate your payment. Idt vas like buttah…

    con edison

    August 29, 2009 at 1:18 am

  13. Maybe you need to take up a different, more epicurean hobby, like, say, cooking, which you could then branch out into eating as well and not have to have various fellow colleagues have to take the time out to feed you.

    And I thought you’re supposed to totally slack off and take advantage of the suckers who finally hired you by never doing work again! Sheesh, didn’t you read the secret memo?


    August 29, 2009 at 3:34 am

  14. Your posts about schedules always recall to mind the section in Barthes by Barthes where he writes about his life long dream of getting up at the crack of dawn, but the impossibility of doing so even when he does it, because at that very early hour he desires, right then and now, the lucidity, the perspective, the calm agitation that comes only late at night, right before one lays down to dream.


    August 29, 2009 at 4:15 am

  15. Sisyphus,

    I don’t ask to be fed, trust me. I just find it odd that people naturally do that sort of thing sometime. Despite being a big guy, I mean tall and so forth, for some reason I draw maternalness out of certain people.

    I should learn how to cook as then it’d be easier to have people over. This is a long term problem. Before kids, of course, you could just go to restaurants. But UK-avec-infants culture is defined by Saturday / Sunday “dinner,” which means lunch actually, but also that people come over for a long time, not just lunch. But yeah you have to make something good. I’ll sort this out.

    And I thought you’re supposed to totally slack off and take advantage of the suckers who finally hired you by never doing work again!

    Oooops! Budget crisis!


    Perfect. Where is that?


    August 29, 2009 at 8:27 am

  16. I think you should learn how to cook, and I say that as someone who can make only omelettes. I think I might indeed branch out once my punitive diet will allow me more than one ingredient per mealtime and involve any foodstuffs than anyone else might enjoy.


    infinite thought

    August 29, 2009 at 9:52 am

  17. Hmmm… Well I guess there are lessons that one could take, but days are getting very very full aren’t they?

    Perhaps, though, yes…

    Must say, alfalfa’s not all that bad, is it?


    August 29, 2009 at 10:30 am

  18. I’d be happy to volunteer to teach you, for a very modest fee. In fact I think as a straight substitute for psychoanalysis it really could work on so many levels.


    August 29, 2009 at 10:33 am

  19. I’m frightened what might happen if one thought of cooking as a “straight substitute for psychoanalysis.” Prolly cut off a finger or something worse.


    August 29, 2009 at 10:35 am

  20. Ah, but see, cooking is a fundamental daily ritual of the looking after of the self. Its psychophysical benefits cannot be overstated.

    (I mean that, but also and more seriously I have a young daughter with special needs and we have a sort of kitchen-based therapy going which she responds to more than just about anything else.)


    August 29, 2009 at 10:40 am

  21. I’m frightened what might happen if one thought of cooking as a “straight substitute for psychoanalysis.” Prolly cut off a finger or something worse.

    Oh, I love the ‘frightened’. So Melisande! 🙂 No, I think it would work, and agree with Giovanni. I don’t know quite why, or maybe I do, but I’ve always done it and now throw off things like Chicken Marsala, as this past Monday, even while undergoing Stalking Debriefings. I don’t even overuse the Marsala at this point. Oh yes, but why…yes, I think that at La Cite des Arts in Paris, where I lived a year back in the 70s (it was still there in 1997, so probably still is), I had a boyfriend who taught me a lot about French Cuisine–yes, that was tasty too, BUT…I remember that I had only a two-element hot plate and was within a few weeks making thinks like Escallope de Veau a la Creme Fraiche and later Pork Chops Piquante. Then a lot from my Southern mother would come back to me once I got started. at a certain point, Julia Child is THE ticket, because the recipes are always accurate, even if too intricate…like your days.

    Seriously, I think it IS important, but I never would have thought about it till this post/thread, because I’ve never been without it as a constant part of my life. And you know you’re good at it when you don’t keep worrying about fancy sauces, liqueur cakes, etc., and know when the perfect pear is all you need. Of course, I don’t know if it’s possible to really do it concentratedly if you’re starting so late (as with fiction) and have all those other responsibilities, though. I know there were periods when I did much less of it–but it always makes choosing food elsewhere a more acute proposition [sic?] as well, say, as at those Korean Salad Bars you still long for. But it’s complex, and I certainly don’t value the 10 sessions total I’ve had with psychiatrists nearly as much as I do my Monday sessions with J., for which I usually do the cooking. I do think omelettes are among the most weirdly difficult thing to get right, though, and chefs have said that omelette is the mark of a professional I’m quite sure IT will be glad to claim this fearsome epithet, even if I disagree with this chef. But even a dessert souffle is not something you have to watch so closely once assembly is complete. Omelette secret is to have gas range, first of all, then to hold the pan above the fire and let it cook by raising it and lowering it; you can never leave it unwatched (this is also true of melting chocolate, by the way, which is why one is usually instructed to use a double boiler, but that’s not really necessary). Also, add a splash of white wine to it. If you get the omelette brown, you have failed! She must be like a lamb’s belly—or worse…

    btw, I’m pleased with the turn of events, and would like to meet you when you’re here. You needn’t tell me who you are even when we get together–I’m very used to playing Hide-the-Croyez-Monsieur with total strangers. Now that you have insisted upon bringing out my paternalness as well as my maternalness, I’m not nearly so resentful. I’m simply incapable of being submissive for more than a few minutes. You don’t like it either, so we should get on swimmingly. Oh, but please keep telling me that things ‘frighten you’, it goes straight to the paternality.

    ‘Despite being a big guy, I mean tall and so forth,’

    Oh, don’ WORRY ’bout-ee…I’m not as tall as you, but I’m definitely and so forth, so just keep the wife around so I can give up the maternalness for awhile, you’ll be okay.—and I know you’re a *Big Bruiser* anyway. I’ve never objected to attractive men’s wives in any case; it’s only the beautiful latent closet queens that refuse to allow their wives near me, and then blame it on both me AND the wife! Now that’s just not fair to an Aging Call Boy. I’ve always depended on the kindness of Strangers, and I’ll get to see one of these American ones again this year–he’ll give you my details if you’re in ‘Gotham’ again (not that he’s a subaltern, mind you, far from it, you’re just safer from gossip if you were to email him top secret things), and really get a nostalgic hankering for overpaying your gas ‘n’ electric bill after years in the languorous atrophy and faded elegance of Central London.

    We hope that you can forgive the ridiculous length of this drollery, it is of course part of the Fashionable New Repetitiousness. I actually think I quite like you, as you are definitely an aficionado in practice if not in theory, of The New Repetitiousness; so if you wish to complain about our behaviour without the potential gossip fallout, inform IT to email me. She is a born diplomatrix. Please do not hurt my feelings on the public board, as you know, I am very delicate (lol), and don’t like to have to be forced into a withdrawn, submissive asana. You can lob all the ageist jokes you want, though. I don’t’ know why people would think I wouldn’t just lie about that if I wanted to.

    But I’m frightened of almost everything else!

    con edison

    August 29, 2009 at 6:21 pm

  22. I tried to see if your gmail worked again, it had been returned before. You don’t have to respond to my mails, but what I could do is send you a comment in the mail if it got too long. I know I go over the line on that, but I just get started and can’t seem to stop. I do that with another blogger so I won’t put his other readers off–and just say on the mail ‘read if you have time’. Just putting it here in case your gmail above doesn’t work again. No big deal either way, I’m not still trying to find out your identity for vicious reason. Okay. I’m not sure why it didn’t work a year ago, but it really didn’t.

    con edison

    August 29, 2009 at 10:23 pm

  23. Hi Ads

    I’m an American poet who frequently reads your blog. My name could be shortened to A. Wolf, but the A. Wolf who commented here is not me. Perhaps there is another A. Wolf, but I am doubtful.

    I’m not sure what kind of jerk would highjack my name to do such a thing. Just wanted to clear that up.




    August 30, 2009 at 1:22 am

  24. PS- if you can see IP addresses I would be very curious to know what region “A. Wolf’s” comment came from.



    August 30, 2009 at 1:28 am

  25. Oh vell, such things are no doubt thrilling. In any case, ads, I’m glad we cleared up something or not. I intend to take your admonition to be ‘civil’–but only here, of course. Civility is greatly overrated, and we all want the Big Part. I primarily wanted to figure out a way to not go into rhapsodies on someone else’s blog. These impersonations aren’t of any interest to me, as they’re totally predictable by now. I have no idea how somebody keeps impersonating himself at the age of 44.

    con edison

    August 30, 2009 at 2:24 am

  26. There’s certainly a B. Wolf, if that helps. Anyway, not unlike ‘Martin et cie’, who have provided me with rich text without a fee. Now, that’s service.

    con edison

    August 30, 2009 at 2:26 am

  27. I confess, I was impersonating ‘B-Wolf’, I’ve been doing it for years. What can I say? Crime pays. He’s cute but not really sexy, you know. That was my mistake. I think the ‘A’ is for ‘Alfie’.

    con edison

    August 30, 2009 at 2:39 am

  28. Oh yes, one more thing, he DOES promote genre fiction, that’s why all I did was impersonate him and steal his name and posthumously published work from time to time. I just thought you should know, since you were helpful in liberating me from the deadly charisma of genre fiction.

    con edison

    August 30, 2009 at 2:44 am

  29. We could call the show ‘Straight Eye for the Queer Pisser’, no?

    Oh, this is sooooo much butcher than CPC.

    con edison

    August 30, 2009 at 2:59 am

  30. Why am I not surprised that when I try to set the potential violation of my name/identity on the interweb straight “this guy” is there mocking me?


    August 30, 2009 at 5:02 am

  31. We have no idea. We just started to email you, but decided you hadn’t behaved properly.

    con edison

    August 30, 2009 at 5:07 am

  32. It is a section in ‘Barthes by Barthes’ with the heading: Au petit matin.


    August 30, 2009 at 5:10 pm

  33. Move to block con ed’s IP. No reason required.


    August 30, 2009 at 9:45 pm

  34. Jane–Why do you think i wrote the comment about how I wanted to try to not write such long comments? And we discussed this. The ‘A. Wolf’ is a friend of mine, we were just being playful. Why do you want to be so Stelinist? Ads and I have an open dialogue now, if he wants to delete some of my racy comments, I certainly don’t mind. Sorry I offended you, dear, but therefore I mustn’t like you either, now can we?

    con edison

    August 30, 2009 at 10:06 pm

  35. Con Edison,

    I think I’m pretty close to changing my mind about this, as in practice it’s starting to seem a bit disruptive, and it’s bothering regular readers. So, you know, maybe it’s best if you either tone it way down or maybe not comment at all… Your call, but I’ll start deleting if this becomes the con edison show.

    You are not friends with A Wolf. Seriously. Not this one anyway.


    August 30, 2009 at 10:11 pm

  36. If he wants to ban me, though, because of egregious offenses, it will keep me from getting Carpal tunnel syndrome YOu see, we go way back. I don’t know why, some kind of energy that makes sense to me he has, does stimulate me to write here in spurts, although I hadn’t for a long time. And sometimes I think the posts are really good. I’m just trying to make sure I don’t do any more rhapsodies, but it looks like that point is lost on you.

    con edison

    August 30, 2009 at 10:12 pm

  37. Ok see seriously – another meta comment. Don’t leave anymore tonight. Take a breather, con.


    August 30, 2009 at 10:14 pm

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