Papers

My day started with papers.

Newspapers, papers on projects, note cards with reminders, a pad of notes - whoops, here's a new class that needs to be developed! While still in bed I went over an account of totalitarian propaganda techniques. My home office desk has papers seemingly but not randomly scattered about and next to it is a table with files, more papers, and books related to a recent project. One stack is held down by a book on completeness by Philip B. Crosby and another on the discourses of Epictetus. Peter Snow's "To War with Wellington," a used copy which recently arrived from England, is on still another. I can see "The Trails of Pete Kitchen" on a small file cabinet and, next to a Civil War saber, is a stack where Stephen Bungay's "The Art of Action" cries out to be finished.

My wife's ungodly schedule requires her to rise early. Possessing no cat burglar skills, she thrashes about. Once she is moving, my sleep is unsteady and I'm always up before she leaves.

So I can deal with papers.