Had I wanted so desperately to be special, to have a purpose, to recover from the shame of not being able to keep pace with the corporate world that I had somehow fabricated the entire thing? And how would I ever be able to tell for sure? If we are all just hallucinating this reality around us, how could we ever really know what is true and real

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How it felt to me: that is getting closer to the truth about a note­ book. I sometimes delude myself about why I keep a notebook, imagine that some thrifty virtue derives from preserving everything observed. See enough and write it down, I tell myself, and then some morning when the world seems drained of wonder, some day when I am only going

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