After a year of living by myself, I said to hell with that noise and am now living with some of my Hopkins classmates. I am in my house right now. It already smells a bit funny. But it’s fun to live with people and stuff and things.
Let’s see. I also finished reading Steppenwolf. It was really fascinating. So overwrought and serious. There’s a certain late 19th and early 20th century way of talking about emotion that’s just completely gone now. We don’t believe that emotional lives have the same kind of nuance and our literature doesn’t devote itself to teasing out these very fine and very subtle shifts in the emotional gestalt. I guess it’s cause we know that it’s all really just some chemicals do some stuff to some neuron (or whatever it is, I’m not a scientist or anything).