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A fucking C. I don't have it at work or at home, and today it "feels like" 41 C/ 105 F (i.e humidex). You know what it "feels like"? It feels like I'm sitting in a puddle of sweat.
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Knowing that death is certain and that the time of death is uncertain, what's the most important thing?
—Bhikkhuni Pema Chödrön
Humankind cannot bear very much reality.
—From "Burnt Norton," Four Quartets (1936), T. S. Eliot
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