I keep looking at your letter that is asking me how to be happy and I don’t know how to respond. I wish I knew, I thought I knew. I’ve been spending thousands and thousands of dollars in pursuit of it. But now I’m not so sure, there is this huge part of me that wants to erase my name and erase my life completely and disappear from this stream of 9 numbers that makes me real. 9 numbers. Not to mention the sequence of numbers that make my bank account or lack there of. The numbers to prove if I get hit by a truck someone should take care of me, my phone number, god my phone number, this necessary evil. Numbers, numbers, numbers. I’m sitting here dumbfounded by this week, only writing this paragraph to stay sane but I’m losing my words keeping track of all these numbers.
