Shocker realization of the day while standing in empty elevator: I am not happy. Though who am I to assume I should be happy, to walk around thinking happiness is attainable. What a privileged existence to consider such a thing as mine for the taking. It’s foolish to expect it. Ridiculous. Absurd. The end. Doors open. Walk out. Pretend this never happened.
But I am reading a really good book about writing right now, slow-devouring on the subway. Someone recommended this book. Who was it? I owe you a thank-you.