Pleasure becomes a value, a teleological end in itself. It's probably more Western than U.S. per se.

I will probably write an hour a day and spend eight hours a day biting my knuckle and worrying about not writing.

I am concentrating docilely on the question why U.S. restrooms always appear to us as infirmaries for public distress, the place to reagain control.

That sometimes human beings have to just sit in one place and, like, hurt. That you will become way less concerned with what other people think of you when you realize how seldom they do. That there is such a thing as raw, unalloyed, agendaless kindness. That it is possible to fall asleep during an anxiety attack. That concentrating on anything is very hard work.

Nothing brings you together like a common enemy.

You have decided being scared is caused mostly by thinking.

The entire ball game, in terms of both the exam and life, was what you gave attention to vs. what you willed yourself to not.