Today, I speak with a voice created in a cement mixer. I can feel the sand swirling around lungs, my throat, my mouth. Yesterday it felt better. Reading Paradise Lost in the voice of Satan makes it all seem more surreal. What I thought this past weekend surely meant an appendicitis has turned into an influenza-like squall in my upper chest.

At work, I force myself through book 29 of the "Left Behind: The Kids" series. And book 30. These books mean to instill a proper fear of God and his machinations in children as young as "grades 6-8." Each word printed in these books reeks of anger. Hatred. They preach of the love of a deity with one side of the mouth while they preach intolerance from the other. Each line makes me less and less interested in giving them the benefit of the doubt, instead of leaping to my own conclusions.

Today never seemed to end. It still hasn't. Maybe it never will--no rest for the wicked.

This node written in E-Prime