when i wished i loved life like bubbles

Paul Rudd was right in Knocked Up when he said kids' smiling faces when they encounter bubbles reminds you of how much you can't enjoy anything anymore. I haven't experienced pure joy--pure, boundless joy--in ages. My mood is, sadly, dulled. Here I am, in Canada with my two best friends, in a perfect setting away from everything for 10 days, and what do i feel? Not much different then I would if I were home.

Camus was right. You can get used to anything, with time. Everything, when turned to habit, is bearable. And Beckett was right. Habit is a great deadener. Therefore, doing basically anything leaves you, well, dead. Or at least leaves me dead. I believe in all of this existential crap.

I lost my luggage on the flight here. At first I was horribly upset, because some things in there had sentimental value, and because I was left in Canada for 10 days with two changes of clothes, already worn. But quickly I realized that, since the airline will reimburse me for the lost luggage, maybe it would be fun to buy new clothes to replace the old ones and completely change how I dress. So we went out and I bought some new things and it was fun. Today, though, my luggage finally came back from the airport; they found it. They found it after I had bought new clothes and after I had gotten over losing it. So there's $200 down the drain and here's me, not happy in any way to see my lost collection of clothing.

Nothing makes me happy.

Not my new clothes, not my old ones. Not being in the US, not being in Canada. Not Swarthmore, not anything. Not happy in the way children see bubbles.

Maybe the only life for me is the one I would never love to live: the kind of life where you're always leaving, always moving on, always betraying (for you unbearable fans), always doing something different.

I'll never know.