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crookedfingers
the city where Renaissance bankers served soup made from parrot tongues 
14th-Sep-2017 10:07 am
It is 9:51 AM Thursday morning here in West Michigan. Outside the sun is shining and there are no warplanes dropping bombs on us. I just woke myself up from a nap in the living room. In my old age I find myself taking short naps. I do not have the strength to stay awake for long periods of time these days.

Carol and I both got up around 6:35 AM and went out for breakfast. After breakfast we came home and Carol left soon afterwards to go to GR to meet up with a old girlfriend to visit Meijer Gardens. I wrote in my paper diary after Carol left and then passed out for a nap. Life is exhausting!

I have no plans for the day but to doze.

Last night I basically read late into the night from a book titled, 'Isaiah Berlin: A Life' by Michael Ignatieff.

I am almost finished reading a novel titled, "About Schmidt' by Louis Begley. Since I am about to fall asleep I will close to go back to sleep. Existence keeps speeding by. Tomorrow we will be in the middle of the month. Our son Josiah and his wife Hannah will be proud parents of their first child next month Marika Rose. Carol plans to leave for Seattle Washington October 10th to be with Hannah and Josiah till the 24th of October. I will stay here in a state of exhaustion waiting for death. I confessed to my wife last night I am afraid of dying. I do not look forward to death. Due to my fear of death I can not fly in airplanes. I am not prepared for a plane crash and death.

I will close to face death.
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