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2000-03-19 | 18:58:04

To tell you the truth, I bore myself.

I want to do something and I do something else. Reading a review of the Judith Thurman Colette biography and heartsick because I don't live the way I want. Okay, fine, Colette was something of a ... I wouldn't want to hang out with her, she sounds like a pain in the ass. But even if she behaved like a spoiled teenager all her life (actually, she reminds me of Eileen, an old friend whose libido springs eternal), she still wrote truckloads. Everything else pales next to that. Anais Nin, whose writing I regard little, still wrote buckets more than me and therefore deserves buckets of respect. They all deserve respect in equal quantities. With three or four or five unreadable books, Douglas Coupland has earned five books' worth of honor that I don't get. And he will be remembered. Not me.

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