I was almost perfectly relaxed, tranquil, even. I had no job, no plans, no prospects, no vision for the future, but everything was going to be alright.
I wanted the serenity and security of Bertrand Russell, lying out in the backyard. Bertrand Russell wasn’t forcing me to go bowling and drink beer, then spend the rest of the day in a deep existential fog. Maybe there was still time to cancel, I thought. Maybe I could back out.
