I don’t think i can get used to this neverending apprehension, this Western stress that is a vital component of life in new york. worrying about a jillion little things all at once, on top of your health and your career and your libido. it feels like too much—am i the only one that feels this is too much? it’s too much.
a few weeks ago sameera and i were playing monopoly. as a good economist, i quickly manoeuvred her out of her hard-earned cash, even though i started out losing the game. she was furious, but i found her fury very cute. eventually she became “bored”, and being the good lawyer that she is, offered me a draw. she didn’t phrase it as a draw; she said she wanted to end the game on a positive note and wanted nothing more than to be able to shake my hand, say good game, and go back to being friends. i accepted, because the way she stated it sounded much more appealing than a plain draw, and made more sense than playing for another hour to get a result that didn’t matter.
it’s things like that that make me feel guilty. whenever i do take it on myself to think big things, have amazing thoughts, i rarely ever write them down; and even when i do, i usually fail to act on them. i’ve had ideas for articles, novels, entire sagas; career paths, life plans; and plain things from a to z. but i’ve never put much into action because the excitement fades so quickly that it’s almost not even worth it. it’s a real shame; it’s almost as if, having thought of the idea, i become immediately satiated even without putting anything into practice, and so there the idea stays, on paper, or in my head, and is never carried out.
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