On a trip to Scotland my traveling companion suggested I write a book. This is not that. I consider what I’m writing an explanation, one given to nobody in particular except those who read it, myself, and God. I feel that this exercise is arrogant; “Who cares?” The answer to that question is easy: nobody. But it is an exercise, a drill — therapy. I’m ambivalent about whether that nobody cares is regrettable or liberating. Is it both? I like the exhortation, “Never complain, never explain.” I’m ambivalent about doing both here. I have chosen to not arrange this chronologically.
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