Another terrible night, not only with night thoughts but bad dreams of underground. Claustrophobia is my worst phobia, so I'm indulging in my strongest weakness, right now, too much coffee. It could be worse, I could have dreamed about what I foolishly read about the intimate life of Lindsay (apparently, at his request, "Lady Graham") Graham. If you ever wanted to discourage a gay man from having sex, I can't think of anything more likely to have such an effect than thinking about Lindsay Graham's sex life.
I owe it to Hans Kung to type him out better than I'm likely to this morning, and owe it to you as well, so I'm going to try to take a nap between working in the garden and start on the next installment of that when I'm awake. Editing's bad too.
Wonder if the idea of hell started with someone who has a fear of being confined underground. It's hell when I dream about it. Never have fire in those dreams, or devils.
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