I dunno. There come times when I look around, and everything around me, all the elements of my life — it all makes sense to me, each thing in its way. Not like I think of every little thing, and see it in perspective against all the other things, but there is that overall sweep of meaning that washes over me: that all is somehow right in my corner of the world, that life is really worth it.... And then that little feeling comes creeping along, and I wonder if I'm missing something. That within this armor of contentment there is some little chink I am not aware of, some refutation to all the reasons why. As if there is something that is fundamentally wrong with me, and always has been — that my true purpose is to suffer.... It is perhaps, though, that both visions are flawed. Maybe not all of it really does make sense, that I am overgeneralizing a momentary contentment. But maybe these lapses are not so fatal, not so critical. Maybe it makes sense enough, that I may be happy enough, and life goes on. I dunno.
