There ought to be a man with a hammer behind the door of every happy man, to remind him by his constant knocks that there are unhappy people, and that happy as he himself may be, life will sooner or later show him its claws.
— Anton Chekhov
Yesterday was one of those days that make you want to hang up your hat. Throw in the towel. Etc.
Chalk it up to reverse seasonal affective disorder. Or maybe it was all the meat last weekend.
Anyways, the man with the hammer was knocking, and if you know me, you know I don’t have much of a poker face. I’m a pretty good liar, but my face tends to read like an open book. Good thing my great ambition is to be an open book. Ho ho. Thank God for Castrato Rock.
Today was much better. Today was Toots and the Maytals. Play “Louie, Louie” or “Pressure Drop” in your car with the volume full blast and the windows down, and just see if you can stay depressed.
Who are all these happy men the Russians were always talking about? I’ve been to Russia, and I didn’t see too many happy people there.
Crazy Russians…
but chekov’s a stoic (like beckett). he gives me hope.