I try to not wake to a series of problems, for surely the day has more in store for me than my futile attempts to solve them. I'd like to think that I leave myself open to a myriad of possibilities, but the truth is that I tend to quickly clamber against the clock, speeding through my days with the impossible futile fury of ragged accomplishments. We need a gentler beginning, something to set the tone: perhaps waves crashing on the shore. Maybe I should look at each day's beginning as the first line in a great short story. "Paul's dream dissipated into the prehistoric rumblings of a garbage truck..."
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