After all I’d written and thought, an ironic moment: Yesterday, after a very good friend did practically nothing, I reacted as though it were very much something, getting quite upset in the process. Which today makes me wonder at how habituated I can be at building castles from thought, to trap my soul within their fragile dimensions. It is so easy to turn aside from the moment, to gaze down the halls of fantasy. Why? To what end? For what attraction? The irony of my own life is perhaps the best place to look for wisdom…