ithaca calls at me. i am being inexorably sucked into a bottomless morass of tribal enthusiasm and cultural chauvinism.
i find myself asking, is it reprehensible to be happy with my lot and to be not curious about my beginnings? is it shallow to be satisfied with stories without yearning for the experience? is it immoral to be reprehensible and shallow?
at forty-four, i don't feel like professing heartiness for projects that do not thrill me.
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