I always wondered how God made everything in six short days.

But forget it all.  Forget the cold expanses of nothingness punctuated by hot balls of fusion, the icy surfaces of wandering rocks, the steaming equatorial greens of habitable planets, the beautiful blue virgin skies before there were eyes to see.  Six stopped at six.  The auto de fé became a finite act instead of going on as an infinite stream of creative consciousness.

The past few days, abbr.:

1)  Work is settled.  I’ll be interning at a charity which provides education to people who encounter various problems obtaining it on their own.  According to my boss, about half of my work will involve policy research.  We’ll see if I can jack up that ratio, since administrative work is the modern Marxist dystopia of smashing bolts on an assembly line.

2)  Travel!  After listening to a presentation about travel around Europe, I realized I need to plan some trips.  Barcelona, Copenhagen, Paris, Amsterdam, Rome, and Prague are on the table.  It’s too easy and inexpensive not to do.

3)  I finally started cooking.  A friend and I made taco chicken tonight from an online recipe.  The handiwork of your own hands carries a special flavor.  Or maybe that was the melted cheese.  But either way it tasted good.

As yet I’m still trying to let the personality of London and of the group subsume my own.  It’s the only way to experience things.  You either find something fresh and exciting or you feel like an unbreakable cell performing cytokinesis to the penultimate step.  After six days I find I’m waiting for my seventh day epiphany, a synthetic red polygon, a quiet, sure voice saying: “rest”.


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