I look at the food and want to eat it. I almost opened the cookie jar to remove a cookie that had bent corners. something about the bending. I was going to save it? I don't know. But I left it there. I have certainly had enough this morning, very little of it healthy.
I finished the book I was reading, "S.", by John Updike, and now I have started reading the diaries of John Cheever. There is some thing interesting here, or maybe not so much, that he doubts his ability, despairs that the work he has done is not worth anything, compares himself to others like Mailer and is found wanting. I do the same.
He also often speaks of himself in the third person. I think - at this time of his life, in the forties and fifties - it was not uncommon to write this way. But even in his journal. Seems odd to me.