Not everyone is like me. That is perhaps the most terrible aspect of reality that I find myself tortuously forced to contend with -- from my perspective, of course.

I think of what I would be willing to forfeit; what I could go without; and what I would ask for in return. I think I could throw away most of what I love, most of what I do, if only I could be free. I think there's freedom out there, there's a way to reach it, there's a path I can trace, I can sense it, but that leaves me unsatisfied. It might be my nature, maybe something else. Regardless of the reason, I just feel that it's insufficient to carve out a nook for myself alone, even if I can pull mine in. Everyone should see the path; everyone should be able to traverse it.

How much are people willing to give up? I think not much. I imagine angry faces twisted by greed and conceit, foaming at the mouth, eyes drowned in contempt towards peace and simplicity.

The industrial revolution and its consequences... I feel like I'm sounding a little like that, and I do feel a certain seed of violence, though my conscience has stamped it out every time.

The world of Monk & Robot might have ruined me. Is it even possible to build something like that? Something with so much grace... I think it might not be possible. I think forfeiting a lot might lead to a lot of death and pain for many.

Anyway, I've kept on reading The Great Gatsby! I'm on chapter 4 (I think) and liking it a lot so far.

I wore jeans, today.