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  • I've been waking up regularly at 3 a.m.
    Toss, toss, turn.
    I sit up and grab the book I've been trying to finish for seven years.
    Hunter S. Thompson's memoirs.
    I love the stories I can dig and find there.
    Big Sur. South America. The South.
    But especially lately, my ability to read has been stalled.
    I can feel the atrophy.
    My mind revolts at the idea of reading too much at one time.
    Blogs and Twitter and Facebook and often, email. They encourage brevity.
    Which can be good.
    But I've noticed, my ability to read for hours - sometimes days - is gone.
    Thompson's letters sometimes go on for pages.
    I miss writing book-length letters. I miss reading a book a day.
    But I am so use to the chop. The short.
    I forget to give time, patience to the extensive.
    I shake my head. Sad, truncated stamina.
    And try to fall back asleep.
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