I think of Don Draper when he told his estranged brother "My life moves in one direction: forward."

Don't trust people that fear nostalgia or that don't have a list of regrets.

It is scientifically proven (in some kind of science) that people that lie to themselves are usually more successful in life and athletics.

I rather enjoy being miserable. I don't like being cranky or frustrated or interrupted when I am trying to concentrate. That makes me angry. I'm talking about heartache and longing and obsessing about the perfect romance of the past. The state of mind that is best supplemented by early sixties soul and alcohol or opium derivatives. I'm pretty sure I am doing something useful because I feel so sad and wistful that I should be gettting paid for it. B just sent me a picture from Dodger stadium and it is driving me to drink. There's only cans of La Croix bubbly water here but things could still get dangerous. She's at the game, helping the team go to the world series, eating soft pretzels, and drinking twelve dollar beers. I have to look back and long for the old days because right now, in the present day, there is only real-life responsibility, a losing local team, and what-the-fuck thoughts. Who wants that?