Scrambling, hustling, always be closing. Maybe it's in the DNA? Who knows? I find myself often in hustle-mode. It's one of those Sisyphean tasks that come sort of naturally. I don't really like it. I can do it. I find it necessary. What is expected? Not much. Lots of slogging thru. Keep your eyes peeled, expectations low, hopes kept on a tight leash. Let's become a little hurricane of activity, then sit back and see what, if anything, trasnspires. It has panned out, infrequently, over the years. No promises to myself, or to others either. An open book. Blank pages. Waiting for the skies to open and flaming sentences to consume those pages of emptiness.