I’m obsessed with time because we’re in it and there’s no way to get out. At least until the end. But we don’t know what happens then. Or after. And maybe never will. Most unendurable: Sunday, February, August, 2-5 pm each afternoon. There was a time in Paris when I loved February. My friend and I were living in an apartment on Île de la Cité. All we did was drink, read, and go to cemeteries. I licked Susan Sontag’s grave. I’m not sure why. She once said, “I love being alive. I wake up every morning very grateful that I’m alive. It’s more than enjoyment. I’m very happy to be alive.”
You captured the heart of Sunday so perfectly.
“Sex. Steak. A little fear.” 👌👌👌
“Between 2-5 pm I’m ready to take a pill” ... PURR