Xeropanlificus

I think I've figured out my problem this week. I'm suffering from a severe lack of staring-off-into-space time. Whether it was rushing to get to the wedding, getting up early to go skiing, trying to adjust to the regular work week or trudging through the snow to Duks, my synapses have been firing too often. And, last night, as I reached the end of "The Fair Maid of Perth," and I read of the Battle of North Inch, in which sixty-three highlanders entered into close combat to the cheers of the lowland crowd and only one survived to run away, a coward who swam unwounded across the Tay -- I thought to myself, "I wish I could read the final ten pages to see what happens , but I'm too tired." Then I shut my eyes and fell asleep, and then woke up and went to work.