Gloves for the Bloombergs, Crosby Street
My wife can barely stand my touch when it's muggy out like this. She shrinks away when I lean in. It could be, or could not be, what you're thinking. The fact is, I run hot. My body is a cage of rapidly moving micro bits and pieces, everything always in motion, always grinding, dancing, rubbing, jostling. A simple occurrence of a highly active personal enthalpy. Furnace, stove, oven, heater, etc. Neither sedate nor uninvolved, my physical nature is a demanding one. This permeates my life and is probably the reason for my constant yearning for watery submersion. It may also explain why being sedentary creates such a excruciating void in my creative process. I think best when on the move, to and from work, to and from anywhere. Sometimes I wonder if this means I'll burn out faster. I wonder whether it spells out an ineffectual concern involving my productivity. Can any amount of production match so much friction? My son has inherited my heat. He is strong in the heat department too. I have hopes for him.