July 17. I have a lack of enthusiasm that is truly frightening. I can’t think of a book, for example, that I’m currently curious about with any nerve-wracking intensity. Have I not always been like that? Where is this going?

I don’t feel like reading nonfiction anymore. Those books with titles of the form: “Gripping Wordplay: Explanatory Bait Phrase”.

I have no interest in what happens when everyone in the world can suddenly talk to everyone. That’s the normal state of affairs.

I am, at most, interested in the micromotoric changes, over years, of my hands on the piano.