Roads Not Taken

The plan here, apparently, is to get through graduate school in Seattle. I'm afraid I did not accomplish this. I was too bored to continue. The story serves everything up as a long, blandly related anecdote, not always with an idea of explaining its relevance. The result is a meandering morass full of things that distract from each other. I assume the story about winding up in a body cast will become relevant further down the road. I hope. I assume the story about being in the scouts will become relevant further down the road. I hope. I got to the story about the first of two times the author was most unhappy, and I couldn't go on. My boredom had turned to resentment and a conviction that none of this meant anything, and the last thing I wanted was to click any link that didn't guarantee me getting out of the flashback.

Breakfast is buckwheat pancakes made without salt; without butter, without honey, without syrup, without anything else to go with it except more buckwheat pancakes cut into cute little shapes. At this point, we're just playing with our food rather than eating it.