in which the nightstand pile reaches the edge of the lampshade and can go no higher (Frustrations accompany the choosing of another subjective topic: when will I stop writing about myself? I wish I knew about more things. Perhaps it’s better to be reading instead of writing, in order to know? But I like writing. Anyway, it’s not as if you could just inject knowledge into your head and be ready to use it. My desire to write outpaces the speed at which I can become knowledgeable. So I’ll continue to write about what might sound like the same thing over and over again.)
writing about reading
writing about reading
writing about reading
in which the nightstand pile reaches the edge of the lampshade and can go no higher (Frustrations accompany the choosing of another subjective topic: when will I stop writing about myself? I wish I knew about more things. Perhaps it’s better to be reading instead of writing, in order to know? But I like writing. Anyway, it’s not as if you could just inject knowledge into your head and be ready to use it. My desire to write outpaces the speed at which I can become knowledgeable. So I’ll continue to write about what might sound like the same thing over and over again.)