Reading about existentialism, I’m once again made highly conscious of the absurdity of most theories and philosophies about life, what it means, and how to live it. I’m glad there are philosophers to question these things, although that emotion—gladness—is probably unrelated to philosophy or even thought.

Being pleased that there are people treating something important that I also think might be important is just the recognition of other people being like what I think people should be like: me. It’s disingenuous. It hinges on a doubt: as if there was a possibility that there aren’t people like me in the world, that there is a chance that I am unique and alone. A stupid fear that, like the essence of paranoia, is a disguise for the fact that I want to be unique.

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… for more rafting. I’m always ambivalent about outdoor adventures, being a born shut-in. But I believe in the importance of challenging yourself. There is more good in life than simply sitting around being comfortable. It seems that, aside from thunder storms tonight (which may lead to as many raised hairs as tents), the weather is going to be perfect.

Are you my enemy, or my nemesis? Who are they? I’m dismayed not to know with any reliability, though I can think of some candidates. [This post has been edited to be less nonsensical.]