I started with pop culture books. Fight Club. Gone Girl. Then I got into popular fiction. Karl Ove Knausgaard. Of course, Karl Ove, of course. And soon, I will be working on the masters. The Russians. Solzhenitsyn. I will work my way backward, and turn myself into an intelligent, well-read man.
I am not exiled. Even joking that I am in a self-exile would be demeaning to anyone who has had experience with actual exile. It was just moving for work. To a place that may not be Siberia, but socially, might as well be. These are long stories that shall wait to be told. Stories from Hotlanta still need to be told.
It's all about the jealousy, of course. You, dear reader, are most definitely having a much fulfilling, lovely, satisfied life than I am. The very fact that I worry about such things weekly gives me away. But I shall outread and outsmart all of fun-havers, and in the end, we shall discover who's the winner. The winner is, of course, no one, as we all die and every sort of contest that humans have is pointless, specially those regarding happiness. Regardless, one has been reading a lot as of late. 10 books a week kind of reading. Yuhhp.
Good day to you too, suckerrrz! We all die pointless deaths!
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