I grew up on a 500 acre farm that had half a dozen barns, ponds, a river, an eternity of forest and a dump, loaded with an inexhaustible supply of old cars and assorted explorable junk. I even had my own BB Gun, a .22 rifle and a bow and arrow. And would you believe that there were days, in the summer time, when I would sit in the house with the sun shining right down on the roof and say, ‘I don’t have anything to do.’
I kind of feel like that right now. I’m sitting here, surrounded by roughly one hundred and fifty of my most favorite books, and I have nothing to say. Not one word. I mean, I do, but it doesn’t feel very interesting… like I’ve already explored the whole dump.