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Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.
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11/15/2003: "The Ox and the Butterfly"


I put up with a lot, without noticing it too much. The coffee isn't great, most mornings, but it does what I want it to do, it gets me going. The food, nothing special, but it quiets my hunger and keeps me alive. I'll put up with a certain amount of seasonal discomfort when I'm alone; cold and dry in winter, hot and moist in summer. Not the kind of conditions I'd impose on another person. But my mind doesn't mind, and my body endures a variety of conditions in the course of a day: sometimes hungry, sometimes sweaty, sometimes sated or weary. It waits patiently for the conditions to change, as they will do. The mind is much less patient; it asks for constant stimulation and novelty, it never sticks to one course for too long, it never follows a path to its end but veers off every few minutes. The only time it pauses is when it looks at itself in admiration.

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