After thinking for a couple days in the last couple weeks that I needed to be aware of being alive, etc., I realized that it’s actually kind of a beautiful thing to not take that so seriously. It’s beautiful to not be “aware of being alive,” to not feel you have to be self-conscious, but that you can just go through life being engaged in your writing, and your other engaging activities. You don’t have to think so much about being alive, and you don’t have to try to figure out what it’s like to be alive, though that’s still an interesting question for me.
And what else? … M said she was having a little pity-party for herself, feeling jealous of the others’ money and of their energy. I just listened and told the cat he should be supportive, too.
Don’t sign into Google Chrome here at home. It’ll sync all your viewing history with other Google accounts—yikes, I don’t need that. I updated Chrome though so’s I could access my Google accounts—though not last night, too tired.
[From journal of Thurs., 22 Aug. 2013, Journal 183, page 76]
