As long as I stared at the clock, at least the world remained in motion. Not a very consequential world, but in motion nonetheless. And as long as I knew the world was still in motion, I knew I existed. Not a very consequential existence, but an existence nonetheless. It struck me as wanting that someone should confirm his own existence only by the hands of an electric wall clock. There had to be a more cognitive means of confirmation. But try as I might, nothing less facile came to mind.

In my younger days, I was trying to write sophisticated prose and fantastic stories.

Life's no piece of cake, mind you, but the recipe's my own to fool with.

Most runners run not because they want to live longer, but because they want to live life to the fullest.

I'll write to you. A super-long letter, like in an old-fashioned novel

It's the real world, full of gaps and inconsistencies and anticlimaxes.

It seems to me, though, that you always understand very well what I can't say very well. Trouble is I end up being even worse at saying things well.