Revisiting one’s past scribblings can be enlightening or embarrassing. Puzzlement can ensue: what was I trying (and succeeding, or failing) to say?
This act of willful rereading can cross cosmic boundaries and produce the hangover-like effect of existential angst. How can it have been 17 years since these words were written? What was it like to be in my 40s? What’s the meaning of life, any ......
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