Honor Jones writes in The New York Times:

You’re fully conscious, but nothing hurts. You might as well not have legs for all you can feel them. A sheet hangs from the ceiling, covering everything from your chest down.

But while I was removed from the pain, I wasn’t removed from the experience. If you believe people have souls, a C-section is probably good preparation for the afterlife. Your body is completely out of your control, but you are not your body.

Your partner holds one arm down. A nurse or maybe the anesthesiologist — some stranger toward whom you feel a desperate sense of gratitude — holds the other. After digging around your organs for a while, the doctor says from behind the sheet, “Now I’m going to apply some pressure.” And then suddenly there is another person in the room and both you and your baby gasp the new air and begin to sob.

I was holding my wife’s hand as well until I got blacked out.

Katharine Q. Seelye writes in the New York Times:

Todd Bol was simply paying homage to his mother, a schoolteacher and lover of books. He built a doll-sized schoolhouse, filled it with his mother’s books and put it out for his neighbors in Hudson, Wis., as a book exchange.

Today, just nine years later, more than 75,000 such “Little Free Libraries” dot the globe, from San Diego to Minneapolis, and from Australia to Siberia.

I have seen several of these libraries around our neighborhood.

Hôm nay đến Eden tôi gặp lại một cô gái người Tây Ban Nha xinh xinh với mái tóc xoăn xoăn. Cô cầm tấm bản giấy viết “Xin giúp đỡ mẹ tôi đang mệnh nặng ở quê nhà.”

Sáu năm trước khi mới bắt đầu công việc, tôi gặp cô cũng cầm cái bản đó đứng trước đèn xanh đèn đỏ. Thấy cô rươm rướm nước mắt tôi cũng xót xa. Định giúp đỡ cô nhưng tôi và cô đang ngược đường.

Rồi tôi lại bắt gặp cô ở những địa điểm khác nhau. Mấy năm nay cô vẫn lừa đảo tình cảm người khác để xin tiền. Sao cô có thể làm như vậy?

Kevin Mims writes in the New York Times:

The sight of a book you’ve read can remind you of the many things you’ve already learned. The sight of a book you haven’t read can remind you that there are many things you’ve yet to learn. And the sight of a partially read book can remind you that reading is an activity that you hope never to come to the end of.

I probably have two or three unread books because I could not get through them and thinking of getting rid of them. Maybe I should just keep them for now.

Dan Barry and Jeffrey E. Singer’s “The Case of Jane Doe Ponytail” in the New York Times is about a Chinese girl whose American Dream had turned into an epic tragedy. It’s a chilling read.

Susan Orlean writes about “Growing Up in the Library:”

It wasn’t that time stopped in the library. It was as if it were captured here, collected here, and in all libraries—and not only my time, my life, but all human time as well. In the library, time is dammed up—not just stopped but saved. The library is a gathering pool of narratives and of the people who come to find them. It is where we can glimpse immortality; in the library, we can live forever.

I love this essay. Can’t wait to read her book.

From rape survivor to Nobel Peace Prize nominee, Amanda Nguyễn shares her personal story on the Makers.

David Dayen writes in the Intercept:

According to the affiliation agreement, all of Mercatus’s activities and programs “shall be carried out consistently with the educational and research missions” of the university, including cooperation with other units of the university on “projects of mutual interest.” While Mercatus employees are explicitly not to be designated as employees of George Mason, Mercatus leases office space on the George Mason campus in Arlington, Virginia (for the low price of $1 for a 28-year lease, according to a space usage agreement reviewed by The Intercept); employees of Mercatus receive ID cards from George Mason; employees are eligible to be appointed as “affiliate faculty members” of George Mason (Blahous does not appear to be an affiliate faculty member); and the university pays tuition costs for any Mercatus employees who want to take classes, as it does for George Mason employees.

Wow, $1 for a 28-year lease a huge building that looks like an high-end hotel. What a deal.

Noam Cohen writes in the New Yorker:

The e-mails of the celebrated programmer Linus Torvalds land like thunderbolts from on high onto public lists, full of invective, insults, and demeaning language. “Please just kill yourself now. The world will be a better place,” he wrote in one. “Guys, this is not a dick-sucking contest,” he observed in another. “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” he began in a third.

Just wow!

Mark O’Connell writes in the New Yorker:

Twitter, as everyone knows, is Hell. Its most hellish aspect is a twofold, self-reinforcing contradiction: you know that you could leave at any time and you know that you will not. (Its pleasures, in this sense, are largely masochistic.) My relationship with the Web site, which has, for years now, been the platform most deeply embedded in my daily—hourly, minutely—routine, has come to feel increasingly perverse. It mostly seems to offer a relentless confirmation that everything is both as awful as possible and somehow getting worse. And everyone else on Twitter appears to feel the same way.

He concludes:

To be alive and online in our time is to feel at once incensed and stultified by the onrush of information, helpless against the rising tide of bad news and worse opinions. Nobody understands anything: not the global economy governed by the unknowable whims of algorithms, not our increasingly volatile and fragile political systems, not the implications of the impending climate catastrophe that forms the backdrop of it all. We have created a world that defies our capacity to understand it—though not, of course, the capacity of a small number of people to profit from it. Deleting your social-media accounts might be a means of making it more bearable, and even of maintaining your sanity. But one way or another, the world being what it is, we are going to have to learn to live in it.