The longer I think about it all, the more I am convinced that there is only one attitude toward the world that makes any sense whatsoever: it is all a joke. One big joke, period. And the more convinced I become of this conclusion, the more surprised at myself I tend to get: I have always known it, but… Yes, that damned “but.” Somehow I always manage to forget it, the big joke. And I get all flustered at this or that. At so many things. At almost everything, as a matter of fact. Why cannot I learn the big lesson once and for all? Why cannot I hold onto my own conclusion for longer than a solitary afternoon? For the evidence is piling every single day. For years upon years. And the only answer I can think of worthy of that damned “but” is simple enough: it is love. Yes, love of this world. The big joke. And so I go on and on, in circles. Ever smaller circles, too. Like a moth drunk on silly old love.