We ate our way through the Bronx today. Not really, we hadn't the stomach for it. We ate at two places and declared ourselves full. Then we shuffled around the Bronx Museum for a bit, staring at pictures. I felt inspired and cowed as I always do in the face of people who are doing something. Even if they're old or dead by now.
I think I just want to know. Knowing and finding out excite me. Why can't we just be excited about life? Why must we also be doing something? Yesterday I was on the phone with my dad, and he told me about this 39-year-old Taiwanese guy who had gotten two masters, a Ph.D., and had traveled to 43 states visiting all the country's national parks. He had a minivan, which he slept in on his roadtrips, and he planned never to work. He sounded like the definite, albeit possibly unlikable, eccentric I'd always aspired to become. I'd do it, too, I'd just flat out do it, I don't think I'm afraid anymore, but how can I ever know? It would be lonely. I don't know if I could stand the loneliness.