Rain rattles against the window and I see my banana palms lurching in the stormy wind. Brrr. This old house has no heating and I stay in bed rather than turn on a heater. My bed, now I am wireless, has become an office - piled with books and, of course, the ever-handy laptop. I made coffee at 6 am, when it was still dark, and went on reading the book version of Salam Pax, cross-referencing to websites he mentions. I don't know why, as a dedicated netizen, I stick to the book and do not return to his website, which, after all, is the "real" world. But I am engrossed in this retrospective which is all the more fascinating now, with all the wisdoms of hindsight. Of course I can make notations in the book - things which I can use as I spread the word to the blogless population.
I am annoyed that I have never been to Iraq and that I get confused by the cultural/tribal complexities. I am a shallow student - always skimming information in an effort to keep broadly informed. Coping with the information overload as best I can. Who can work and cook and wash and shop - and also keep abreast of a zillion news sources and blogs?
Let alone write a meaningful blog? Well, I am not competing with the champion bloggers. I have words to churn elsewhere - and I am way more fascinated with what other bloggers have to say than with musings of my own.
I will have to go to work soon - that lively place with its diverse "family" of co-workers. We are a bit nervous about the demolition beside our building. We look forward to the end product which will be our state-of-the-art new premises - but we worry that the shaking of our old building will dislodge the asbestos. They have put in monitors to check this out.
Meanwhile, I dread going out in the rain and getting into my old car with its leaking sunroof. Water will dump on me the moment I start moving. I had hoped to get my new car before the rains. But with just one day to go, fate spites me with a deluge and I shall drive to work draped in towels and with a cap on my head.
A petty hardship when I contemplate Iraq. How pitiful of me to dare to complain.