ragged claws

Still mildly depressed today. Partly because of the incident in the coffee shop, which shook me more than I knew. (She was so fantastically self-important. So certain of her own superiority. Why is that so many of the most aggressive bullies one meets these days are women? Is this what Feminism really envisioned?)

But also because I'm in the midst one of those regrettable periods we have in life when you wonder if any of your acts has significance. If anything you do will be accounted as an accomplishment. If both your good, and evil, and (the majority part of our souls) the mostly-in-between will be interred with your bones. It is that moment when you suspect that you are not even Mr. Prufrock's ragged claws. Rather, you are the sand at the rank bottom of the depths.

It is a mood that, happily, does not last long. If it did, none of us would live beyond thirty. Doubtless I'll be all smiles by morning.