As you look over the papers arrayed on the desk, I stand in the center of the room and wave my arm at its contents.

Welcome to my study.

It is a good place for thinking. I sometimes come here to mull over some fine thread of consciousness, and wake later to find much has been explored and sorted through during my sleep. The dreams I dream in my study are always full of emotion . . . and perhaps some hold a kernel or two of insight.

I walk to face the books in the north wall shelves, running a finger along their spines for a few moments before pulling down a large book with a picture of Mt. Denali on the cover, from a shelf labeled "Reference." I page through it for a baker's dozen of pages, then snap it shut and tuck it under my arm.

Please feel free to look around at whatever you like. I shall be around somewhere. Take your time in here if you want to. I keep many of the more intense books in this room. Who knows what you'll find. I've disappeared in here for hours.

Hmm. Reading can really take you places. Nagdeo.

I slip quietly out the door.

Most of the papers on the desk are arranged in five stacks, with a few loose ones here and there. Some are handwritten, some are not, and the color of the papers varies widely.

A bit later, you glance again at the walls of the study.

(Last tidied up 10/27/02001)