We’ve spent a lot of time on it, this anger of mine. It was only because I found reality so unsatisfactory; that was my story. So unfinished, so sloppy, so pointless, so endless. I wanted things to make sense.
I thought Joseph would try to convince me that reality was actually fine and dandy and then try to adjust me to it, but he didn’t do that. Instead he agreed with me, cheerfully and at once. Life in most ways was a big pile of shit, he said. That was axiomatic. “Think of it as a desert island,” he said. “You’re stuck on it, now you have to decide how best to cope.”
“Until rescued?” I said.
“Forget about the rescue,” he said.
“I can’t,” I said.
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