I didn't understand why we couldn't just read the books without forcing contorted interpretations on them. But then again I miss talking about books and making wild guesses about the author's psyche from their writings. What I had these past few years is just a series of dry spells and constant cognitive dissonance with others. Is it normal to run on empty every day, never fulfilled and fully satisfied? No wonder the proverb goes, "No man an island", for to be this isolated, is folly to a human soul.
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