Killing time in Houston before my little puddle jumper takes off for Mobile, I’m still dogged by a nagging anxiety about this job, a sense that I need to be home for some reason. That I’ve left something important undone.

But what, I can’t say. Whatever it is, it will have to wait.

The only victim of this bizarre unease has been my sleep, and Alice. I spent yesterday afternoon unintentionally irritating the shit out of her.

Frankly, I was irritating myself. I was loud, combative and obnoxious. I kept poking at Alice about things I knew she didn’t want to discuss. I think the only time I stopped talking all day was when we went to a movie.

It’s like I was my worst sixteen-year-old self again. I’m hoping that once the next leg of this trip is finished and I find Alabama right where I left it, I can return to my normal, bitter, derisive, lovable self.

Whatcha think?

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When suicide is out of fashion we conclude that none but madmen destroy themselves; and all the efforts of courage appear chimerical to dastardly minds … Nevertheless, how many instances are there, well attested, of men, in every other respect perfectly discreet, who, without remorse, rage, or despair, have quitted life for no other reason than because it was a burden to them, and have died with more composure than they lived? — David Hume, Essays on Suicide and the Immortality of the Soul