Not that I don’t have books to read, but I noticed a Primo Levi book on the bookcase the other day, and having seen the name in Hindsight, picked it up.

The conviction that life has a purpose is rooted in every fibre of man, it is a property of the human substance. Free men give many names to this purpose and think and talk a lot about its nature. But for us the question is simpler.

Yesterday. A good rest, with a good full day at work. Then an hour or two up on Beacon hill watering the garden and I biked down to GLC for dinner. As I was doting about at home, tending to the chickens, preparing for today, they giddily told me about something silly they had done. I was tired and focused on remembering what needed to be done that evening.

The other night Colin and I went to a party at a friends. The majority of the attendance consisted of trashed parents with their children running around, and a minority of bike mechanics and other bikey people.

I awoke this morning thinking about being an adult. About ball pits (xkcd) and careers. I often feel unable to reconcile my lives, my social circles. Perhaps this is normal.

Awake at 6am, I cleaned and made breakfast. I crossed a bit off my TODO list and napped again for a half hour. A big day ahead. Who to share this with? Even the closest feel at arms length. This is possibly, bizarrely, my doing. Also, I still cannot comprehend the power that M’s name has over my emotions, so often on the edge of my mind and the tip of my tongue. I feel this continues to push me away from other people as well.