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May 21, 2012

A raindrop woke me up to a beautiful song playing from my earphones. The tiny speck of water on the back of my left hand, the silent rumbling of a train. My fellow commuters were engaged in reading rather than sleeping, three novels of indiscernible titles, exam notes on Slovene literature, a cheap magazine, a set of high-school biology tests, another novel. My hands were resting on the printout of an article I will lecture on late into the afternoon. Undoubtedly, my students would smile if they saw me dozing off while reading it.  

It’s not the article though, it’s the morning. Rainy, dark and quiet Monday, the kind I would like to get up only to go downstairs to the children’s room and curl up under the blanket with T. or K. And not go to work at all.

Three hours and one espresso later, I listen to the voices gradually building up in the corridor. My office hours will begin in a few minutes. The cattle boils water for another cup of coffee. I browse my officemate’s catalogue of new Verso titles. So many books I would like to read. So many books I would need to read. And so little time to, well, read. I copy a few titles I will consider buying if I get to a decent bookstore in London later this week.

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