I just took a quick shit.

For these shits, in knowing they will be, I have the perfect personal reading material, received as a gift almost a year ago at Christmas. Einstein in His Own Words. It's a small book, riddled with illustration, and mostly huge print. A quote, a note, some info, and then some more.

I am ever becoming slowly, yet so very rapidly intoxicated by it. I read it in very small doses, and it is enough, every time. Then I don't largely crave it, for it has no plot, yet I know it is always there for me, should I have to have a short sit.

It is profound for me to have just read, among other things, a telegram sent to Einstein by a Rabbi:

Do you believe in God? Stop. Prepaid reply in fifty words.

I go now to read more Alice in Wonderland.