Fluctuating moods. Questions bring questions bring questions…
How often can you blow it all apart and then rebuild everything from scratch, without getting so disoriented that it is impossible to function? How many times in one day can you lose the meaning of life, then discover a new one as if nothing had happened?

Clearly, positive thinking is not something I am particularly good at. I used to fantasise of suicide long before I learned to fantasise about sex (though, admittedly, these two are peculiarly alike, especially if seen as means of escaping). Which leaves me struggling with yet another irresolvable paradox: How on earth can a sworn nihilist like me be so persistently, so irrationally, so unnervingly optimistic at the least appropriate occasions?