“Finished, it's finished, nearly finished, it must be nearly finished.”

So, some recent blog posts have gotten me thinking about Samuel Beckett. The line above is the opening line of Endgame. It came to me as I read the last unread message in my inbox, a feat I haven’t managed to do in nearly a month. Yet, is a sisyphusian task. For as I sleep, another bolder of emails will roll down the virtual highway. Even as I write this post, new emails arrive.

The furnace is still broken. A new part has been ordered and perhaps there will be heat again on Wednesday. It’s okay. It isn’t that cold out right now. We work situation remains ambiguous. I expect a resolution on Wednesday, at least a resolution until the next bolder arrives.

“Grain upon grain, one by one, and one day, suddenly, there's a heap, a little heap, the impossible heap.”