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It is snowing in New York. I am sick, or getting sick. I don't feel good, that's what I'm getting at. Lately it is hard for me to save face and carry on as the optimistic, jovial person I think people see me as. Maybe it is a funk. Lately I have been seeing things really clear, though. I have been reading a lot. I've been thinking about D F Wallace too. He used to have a quote pinned to his wall--from Kafka, I think--that said: The Disease Was Life Itself. That thought kinda shook me up.