And then, walking back through the library on the 8th floor, I looked at the bookshelves which I've never done even though I've walked through it almost countless times (I suppose I could count them...23 years x's 3, two semesters, 14 weeks, plus 5 years x's 2...mostly two semesters, 14 weeks,) and never, once, noticed the names of any books.
A friend of mine is thinking of writing a book about being eighty. (He looks like he's sixty.) I suggested a blog since they're so interesting, but they don't have the permanence of a book. That's a good thing, probably. But the guy at Panera, who I haven't seen in too long, lent me his book on WordPress for dummies because that program allows you to feed pre-written material into the blog. But then I'd think about what I'm saying. And thinking isn't necessarily good.