How I Spent My Sunday.

I have written for eight hours today, three on waking, one during dinner and evening television, and three now instead of sleep. Now dawn is only minutes away and the smell of ozone slides from beneath the door like cool camomile and honey, refreshing my mind even as my body reminds me with little aches of the need for sleep. That I am in a position to do so might remind me of my privileged and wealthy existence, my astonishingly prosperous life and world.

What else is there to do with a life? The great geniuses and businesspeople through history all have the answer: work and love. So this is how I spent my Sunday.