Lately

I've not been doing much beyond two things:

- reading James Lileks' new book; and
- slowly recovering from bronchitis.

The book's ok. For me it's actually a good thing that it isn't as funny as his previous book, as I might not have been able to breathe if I laughed that hard again. If you really enjoy Lileks, the book ought to be worth it. If you're on the fence about his work, wait for the Joe book.

In November we are exhorted to reflect on mortality. Being sick can help concentrate one's attention in that direction - especially when fever dreams include some of one's own funeral. During the most fevered night I noticed that I could feel nearly every broken bone I'd ever had, just about as they felt when freshly broken. For as long I breathe, those injuries may still annoy me. More importantly, I still carry the interior damage caused by past sins, but I rarely notice it. I'll either carry that damage on my soul for ever or, I pray, be relieved of it in purgatory.