Greetings, World! Although I am currently wading through acres of undergraduate papers, most of which seem to be describing the physics of universes not our own, I am determined to take little islands of time to think about writing, life in general, and, yes, other universes. While the dog sleeps, and sunlight slants into the room, and the humidifier gurgles sleepily, my poor, overtired brain leaps from thought to thought like an inebriated grasshopper. I wonder vaguely about thermal energy transfer through glass versus the greenhouse effect, or nerve conduction issues in dogs recovering from spinal surgery, or the creative fire of the Nawab of Awadh, who, upon being exiled from his homeland by the British, lamented in the form of a बिरह गीत, a song of separation, the immortal Babul Mora, which I am trying to learn while washing dishes or falling asleep. In my current state written sentences run on like my thoughts, which resemble a very long goods train carrying all manner of things from old attic junk to flocks of starlings.