I’ve read a fair amount of Virginia Woolf, though I don’t know much about her, other than the stuff that everyone over age 13 or a 70 IQ knows: rocks, river. I saw that movie with Nicole Kidman and the prosthetic nose, so that presumably covers any gaps in my education in that area.
Anyway, lately—the last few weeks or so—I imagine myself to be kind of a kindred spirit to good ol’
Oh, to be young again.
So anyway, back to my problems. Yeah, I dunno. I’m sure I’ll get over this, whatever it is—malaise, melancholia, heartsickness, homesickness—long before I need to start collecting stones to put in my pockets.