Living is sad
Life, too
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Once upon a time, I was an English student in an English department reading and writing about a lot of literature and watching a lot of films and thinking that someday I’d be teaching the stuff.
I miss that. I don’t know whether it’s the subject matter that I miss, or the age that I was, or the campus that I lived on, or the particular zeitgeist so different from now. But I miss something.
Or I have missed something.
Right now it’s impossible to tell which is the case.
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After a while, people become abstractions.
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It’s been a long time since I wrote anything other than nonfiction.