At long last, the Queen Anne branch of the public library has reopened. I've never been here before. It's an old-fashioned kind of space, with high ceilings and wooden shelves. I'm a bit relieved to have it here; one can feel at home in a library, and this one is much closer to our apartment than the ghastly downtown branch.
Today- often- I am plagued by the basic problem: why do people do things? Where does all this will come from, and what difference does it make if we have existed or not? Is hedonism the answer? We believe that our lives matter, we try to do things well (or not) and then we get old and die. I don't think posterity exists.
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