in search of a book. Every
day for several weeks. Wasn’t
such a bad thing, I’m thinking,
in retrospect, but at the time,
I mean, my god! I used to
be known for occasional tipsy
flirtation, but I have never once
blacked out. In my history of
book-sniffing dogs, I believe
that I was always the book.
But who wants such a meta
phorical existence? Every
memory gives me a sort of
nostalgic tinge, the rose-
colored glasses thing, and
I’m down with that. Yet—
and here I should say I
have always generally been
the opposite of vengeful—
it’s nice to look at those
moments soberly, too. In order
to assess, to continually rethink
how best to live, to assign
flirtation, but I have never once
blacked out. In my history of
book-sniffing dogs, I believe
that I was always the book.
But who wants such a meta
phorical existence? Every
memory gives me a sort of
nostalgic tinge, the rose-
colored glasses thing, and
I’m down with that. Yet—
and here I should say I
have always generally been
the opposite of vengeful—
it’s nice to look at those
moments soberly, too. In order
to assess, to continually rethink
how best to live, to assign
blame and then to articulate it.
