I am working.  It’s almost 10.  At night.  Why am I working?  That’s a very good question.  And it doesn’t have a very good answer.  And actually, I’m done working, so maybe it doesn’t matter.  Maybe I’m tired.  Maybe I feel a little guilty that I took a couple of hours out of my normal afternoon to follow John to his flying lesson and read in the shade of a tree at the airport.  (But it was so nice!  Until a mosquito bit my thumb.  Bastard.)  And maybe I’m over the guilt and going to bed now.

Good talk!

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