Boozy Bonhomie

My early twenties were far and away the happiest moments of my life. My family were alive, my friends unmarried, and college still held out its social, intellectual charm. At times during that brief stretch I remember leaning back in my chair surveying my surroundings, friends about me relishing boozy bonhomie and exchanging honest laughter. My family remained supportive and secure. And the better part of a lifetime of reading awaited me.

I cannot decide which was harder to bear: the sudden death of my father, which reminded me of my own mortality, or the marrying away of my friends, which assured me of my solitude. The former was a terrific blow, the latter an incremental cancer. Both dented my armor. But it was graduate school that clubbed the enthusiasm for living right the fuck out of me, for it was there that I discovered that reading offered little more than a momentary diversion from nothing.