I have lots of thoughts, and lots of things I ought to write down. But I don't do that. Last week I was away from home and away from the Internet, and I thought I'd write. I didn't. I read books. I stripped old wallpaper from old plaster. I talked. I drank local beer. But I didn't write.
And right now, I'm thinking about Dr. George Tiller and what his death represents. I'm thinking about the plane that fell out of the sky. I'm thinking about how politics divides people. I'm thinking about my own impatience with people and things.
I'm thinking a lot. I just can't seem to think here.
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