Don't Move a Muscle

I've been on edge, distracted, all day. But I think an appointment with my doctor, 28 pages of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, and a cleansing hour-long nap were exactly what I needed. For the first time today, I feel equipped (if not quite enthused) to sit down with a late dinner and expound on Plainsong's qualities as small-town literature.

(But I hesitate to begin, for fear that I will upset the delicate equilibrium I've achieved.)