What d'ya know, I'm baskin' in tropical sunshine right in my bedroom.

Or not.

I can't daydream. I'm incapable of that. It's just me, thinking. Thinking of the good things I'd do back home. That would retreating, of course. Like completely shutting myself off in a cocoon, like for a week, nay for a whole fucking month. I've done that. Now, I'm blabbering.

I'm going on because of that book Deaf Sentence by David Lodge. It's there, the title, if you could read, merely spelling it out for the keyword hits. Right. So I'm still like in its first twenty pages or so, and man, what a read, a linguistic delight, I'd say. It's that kind that you can't rush, you gotta mince the words, savor it. Which could be said less on the ice cream I'm having for lunch right there.

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