Sins of Commission

Mercifully spared from a hangover which by rights should have been my punishment this morning.  If there are literary gods, they are smiling on me.  Or perhaps the gods have sworn off vengeance in observance of some secret holy day.  Today, they mete out kindness to the repentant sinner instead of deserved condemnation.  Did the beer gods intervene on my behalf to reward my faithful devotion to the malt elixir?  Why clemency today when cruelty has been my lot until today?  Do not think that I am ungrateful.

Work went well this morning with two hours at the keyboard before breakfast.  I have vowed to finish Discontent before starting any new projects.  However, I don’t count the few minutes I spent doodling the schematic structure on the back of a piece of scrap paper of what may well be my next book.  The structure looks something like a Celtic cross.  New York is at the center of the circle — the location of the heart of the crucified propitiation for our sins.  Quadrants.  Four other cities.  Paris and Dublin, most assuredly among the chosen.  Two others…?  Rome perhaps.  The past.  Athens?

Last week I saw that a number of people “liked” my posts.  (Thank you.)  As notifications of this being liked arrived in my inbox, I wondered how much I could invest in the spontaneous outpourings conferring awesomeness.  Was I being read?  Can one like without reading?  I was tempted to write a line in my next post asking readers not to like my posts so that it will be only those who do not read my words who press the like button.  Beware you likers of posts lest you out yourselves as non-readers.

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