all this work frustrates me. i’m understanding only 10% of what i’m doing. my non-work life has been sick. some sort of leech therapy is now needed.
or maybe i could just finally read the books i’ve bought, but haven’t even gone through the first coupla pages (maybe i just like the idea of ownership, than of utility). nothing as doomy as the comfort of strangers or as complex as the cryptonomicon (i’ve only read a third of both books).
times of depression are about to come. the cold morning air proclaims it.