Wednesday, June 22, 2005
After Many a Weary Mile
I return to the fold, the perfumed bosom of you, O Reader, brown as a berry (I've never really understood that simile -- aren't the only brown berries the dead ones, in which case it's more than a little macabre and not at all indicative of ripe summers and blooming good health?) and brimming with all kinds of cheerful ideas that are possible only through the langourous percolations of one in the hot tub, late at night, with the stars and the dogs for company.
I am sitting at the desk of my father's office lately having glued exhibit pictures to pieces of copy paper in neat sets of three. It is taxing work but work well suited to one whose brains have been liquidated by a first year in law school.
Ah law school. What have you done for me lately besides give me an ulcer (literally -- even though it's just a baby one)? You are dead to me, and I shall not speak of you again (until August).
Before me are the grassy meadows of summer, undulating stretching out towards Iowa and the Vineyard and evenings on the veranda. Yes, weary indeed...
