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March 17th 2010    Tim Candler

    Would be a perfect day to plant potato, but ground is not yet ready for them.    This fault belongs to a chaos of thinking, a lack of orderliness and a movement in imagination that sometimes sees accomplishment in theory rather than in fact. 

    I shall assign blame to mist in thought.  The comfort drawn from carrying the book rather than reading it.  And I will assert that I am guilty of dreaming before I accept the possibility of physical decline.   Yes I used to walk five miles to work and five miles home again.    Fortunately  that work was outside those latitudes prone to snow.

    Yet at my age there should be a calm that prevails over fever.  Call it experience or acceptance.  The wise head, confident  in a search for alternatives.  But I cannot make phone calls without first entering coma, so opportunities for reasonableness remain scarce.

     Wouldn't it be nice to have parts removed from the mind because that way perfect might become flexible. 

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