The Noise of Time by Julian Barnes is unlike anything I've ever read. It's amazing. I'm not finished with it yet, but reading it feels like being taken on a journey over gently bobbing waves, with the occasional lightning bolts across the sky.
I wonder if growing older is all about being let down, gently and otherwise; is it about learning that happiness is allotted to rare bursts of sunshine through otherwise never-ending dreary clouds?
Is this called 'lost innocence', 'cynicism', 'being realistic', 'growing up', or 'moderating our expectations so we are not let down so very much to the point where we feel life is not worth living'?
"If you expect nothing from somebody, you are never disappointed."
But knowing the above makes the happy times so much sweeter.
More than ten years ago, I reached a mutual consensus with my (then) best friend: It's not that I can tolerate a lot of things, or that I'm extremely open minded. I just don't care about other people and what they do with their lives.
Unfortunately the only thing that's changed is that I seem to be tolerating a lot less these days. Gotta work on that.
I'm not sure what I expected.
No; actually I expected something exciting, something fairy-tale like, something with a bright background and some elements of happiness.
I didn't expect this.
I can whine and complain (I do) all day. But, see paragraph two.
I still want a dog. I probably won't cry if I don't get one.
I will probably cry if I get one. Which puts a dog on the same level as chocolate cake.