chorin' round

I think I begin to see the days getting longer. No more than a couple of nanoseconds per day, maybe, but already moving. Christmas came. And went. It was miraculously unfussy once it arrived. I keep reading Proust. Those close to me think I'm trying to impress somebody. Who, I wonder. I'm still amazed--even in translation--at the endless carpet of words that come off the roller, the microscopic examination of everything, beginning (and sometimes ending) with the examination of the examining. All that looking keeps one at a remove or twelve from what the rest of the world might call living. I'm sure I'll disagree with myself in a few days.