I seem to only read books about wine and Italy lately. Oh, and Sherlock Holmes. I will probably be in need of a nice hard dose of Sci Fi sometime soon, but for now this passage from Under the Tuscan Sun really resonated with me. I was starting to feel this a bit on the walk home from work today, which is good because I am deeply in need of answers.
Lying awake, I feel the familiar sense of The Answer arriving. Like answers on the bottom of the black fortune-telling eight ball that I loved when I was ten, often I can feel an idea or the solution to a dilemma floating up through murky liquid, then it is as if I see the suddenly clear white writing. I like the charged zone of waiting, a mental and physical sensation of the bends as something mysterious zigzags to the surface of consciousness.