I Really Am Doing Well

I really am lucky.

I am. It's not true I don't have friends. Acquaintances should count as friends. How cruel to think otherwise, how inconsiderate of them. I have polite acquaintances who can be invited for meals. I have a good job which gives me money and status within my community. I can have whatever I want for lunch. I have as much health is typical for my age.

My job is easy. Actually my job would be very difficult to do well. I should have to keenly exert myself. Fortunately, effort is not praiseworthy. It is not looked upon well. I am mediocre at my work. Everyone is pleased with me. My mediocrity is commendable.

Above all, I am comfortable. Did you know I can set my bathwater to the precise degree that I desire? Even the floor is heated during winter.

A city where strangers never speak is highly conducive to reading.

Actually it's typical for people my age to not have many friends. This is not college. People are focused on their families, on success. I am very lucky, of course, to have neither of these things. It gives me a lot of spare time. Think of all the money I save, just by not having children!

I am not alone. I'm lucky to not be alone. I have a good husband. My good somnolent husband. I'm quite good myself. At least I am not evil. Being evil, at least in an obvious way, would entail making an effort. Evil is not something I need. I am a salaried employee. Pay day is the 20th of the month. It's direct deposit, you don't have to DO anything.

Isn't that lucky?

It's very lucky.

And so it is very embarrassing, very guilty liberal, very adolescent that I feel myself verging on tears as the bus arrives at the airport and I have to clamp my lips together to trap the pernicious weeping cheering voice that wants to shout:

Escape from the land of death!

Escape from the land of death!