The world is not here for me; I am alone.
No one came to my bedside to bring tea, nor did I go to anyone else's, when dusk came upon the damned cold that is circulating in this city and that everyone has caught.
Saturday morning at 7 I have no one with whom to discuss the worry that wakes me up.
After a day of rambling by the library or the movies I find I have not exchanged a word with anyone.
Most people bore me, and I bore them. Increasingly, what interests them most are unappetizing details of their medical conditions. To be fair, what interests me most is my economic future.
Toting up my donations and volunteer work, it becomes crystal clear to me that the real motivation is to feel noble and good about myself.
We are alone. No one will look after us. Conversely, let's be frank, unless we are paid, in psychic or somatic currency, we will not look after anyone else.
