[A writer can spin on about his adventures after thirty, after forty, after fifty, but the criteria by which these adventures are weighed and valued are irrevocably settled at the age of twenty-five.] - F. Scott F., “Ring,” October 1933.
Up late with my books again. Sometimes I wish I had a better go-to than FSF, but really, he’s kind of inevitable reading material at the end of a long NYC week. After reading this, I suppose it’s a good thing I have been keeping track of things lately and writing them down—even though most days I feel like a quarter-formed person (half at best). I have a suspicion the things that happen to me this year may prove to be synechdochic for all the rest of it…if these first three months are any indication, I’m in for something. Not that I am a francophile lush with an unstable southern belle at my side at this age, but I do feel the sea change coming on.
Perhaps I should be asleep.
