I think life has hardened me, and I've become an unsympathetic asshole. The empathy is still there, but there's a difference between knowing (feeling) and caring. People as a whole have become too egocentric and pretentious. It makes me sick and I therefore don't give two shits about most of them.
I think this book is a 'classic' and was recommended by someone, but honestly I need to keep better track of my TBR. Maybe it's the writing style I'm not into. That happens sometimes too. It's book 43 and I just want it to move faster so I can get onto something more enjoyable.
I think maybe it was a mistake. I'm still too raw with grief to be watching things like that. So much has gone on in the last 6 weeks. I'm not ready to purge it out in my journal, but it's been a bit too much for me to the handle.
Hopefully today will be the last day this year the temperature is over 100. I'm over the heat and need a break. It's been a brutal summer.
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