There used to be a stack of books that could calm me no matter how stressed I was. Anywhere I went, I could come home, sit down, and relax knowing I had something to read - something to lose my mind in. But that was long ago. I've aged since then, and now the only thing I can concentrate on is the sounds and visuals in the blur that is reality. A blur of nonfiction in a soul that wants to sleep on clouds and ride dinosaurs to work. One day, we'll find a way. But until then, the stack is neat and organized.