Woke up at 5:30 a.m. for no reason. Fourth consecutive night of sub-sub-optimal sleep. Wearing the moist turban of work-panic and poor self-care. Walking through the dark this morning, I encountered the phrase PANIC AT THE 1970s GRILL. Doesn’t mean anything. Means I’m stressed and don’t feel entitled to the self-pity I half-feel. Sam Lipsyte’s The Ask is supernaturally funny and brilliant.

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