Unhappiness

It’s two-thirty in the afternoon. I’ve been up since approximately six-twenty in the morning. I’ve edited a grand total of zero words today, way down from the 1,670 I planned on doing daily and way, way down from the 2,000 or so I’d need to do to get the revision done by the end of the month. I haven’t exactly given up–I’ve got days off so I’m not doing it on lunch, which isn’t the best time to edit or write or much else–but it’s occurred to me I might not be able to do it. It adds a fourth ball in the air–two review blogs, this blog, a major edit. Sure, the edit provides occasional material for this blog, but not enough for the four posts. Plus there’s the whole election thing weighing on me. Not to be too contrary, but Hemingway was wrong when he said, “the world is a fine place and worth fighting for.” He was objectively, empirically wrong. The beauty Hemingway found in the world was through his own mental construction. There’s no such thing as inherent beauty. The problem, I’ve decided over the last few weeks, is solipsism–while wrong–is a comfort. The last refuge of the idealist and hopeful. Anyway, not sure I’m going to get the edit done this month. Hopefully, but maybe not.

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