Been thinking a lot about the extreme sabotage I practiced on myself throughout my 20s, and on the whole, I guess I'm pretty ok with the results. While the options I foreclosed look slightly better in retrospect, honestly they don't look that much better and I think spending my formative years tormented and desolate has pretty much guaranteed that I won't turn into anything I despise all that much. Plus, it's provided lots of material for my researches into the adequate representation of boredom in narrative.

That my room is, quite literally, underground, full of machines and cultural debris, is, I think, a testament to the effectiveness of my methods.

Proposal: reading group where the assigned reading is not to be discussed or mentioned in any way. Suggestion for first selection: Kafka's "The Burrow". Anybody up for it? I'll make cookies or something. Could this be the way to reinvigorate T.E.A.S.?