There is something about an acceptance. It makes the blood and the brain effervesce; it climbs the ladder of the happiness you felt in the heat of the work. There is no jolt like it, except the one you would experience in grade school, when just after lunchtime your English teacher would say, “Today in class we will be writing a story.” And your fingertips would turn to glad ice, and the bottoms of your feet would thrill, and the bologna sandwich in your stomach would flip over, because she was speaking directly to you. If I am ever medically dead, try whispering that in my ear and see if I
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