I unsubscribed from a bunch of wonderful newsletters. I couldn’t take it anymore. Extremely educated, excellent writing, minds full of ideas, who can stand it? It’s unbearable. They always say they have so many essays in the pipeline, or drafts in various stages of completion, it’s just a matter of finding the time to polish them, what with all the thick books to read, notebooks to fill, all the international travel, research in renowned libraries, academic conferences, meetings with publishers, agents, plus the kids at home, here are photos from my biking holiday through breathtaking landscapes, and there’s that novel to finish, etc etc. They are burdened with too much life, too much joyful activity, too much vigorous engagement with brilliant minds similar to theirs, and let’s not forget the many, many friends in far-off lands, dining al fresco in Rome with my beautiful roommate from college, how the reminiscences flowed. Can you believe the proprietress of that sweet little trattoria remembered us after all these years?

Whereas: I have to eat a banana every day to prevent excruciating foot cramps. I can’t miss a day. I tried taking magnesium tablets, but those didn’t work, so I have to get magnesium from bananas for some reason. I don’t like bananas. I have to time my purchase of bananas so that a ripe one is available every day. I have occasionally waited too long and run out and gone to the store and all the bunches are green, so now I have to scheme days ahead lest I suffer another banana crisis. If I can avoid any more banana crises then maybe I can really begin to live, get my shit together and really make a go of things.

I think I might be entering my caftan years, but I need a cat first. Knock on my door and be greeted by a rheumy-eyed queen in a caftan with a cat in one arm and a Hendrick’s and tonic in the other hand. I once had a beloved cat named Abner. I had him his whole life, but it was so long ago that I can’t remember the circumstances of his death. I ate a whole thing of cookies yesterday, and who can blame me? I can’t find a photo of him but I remember he was gray with a white chest and enjoyed early 70s Van Morrison records.

I happen to think bitter envy is a perfectly valid reason for unsubscribing from someone, because what choice do I have? How much of conscience is how cleverly you rationalize what you were always going to do anyway?