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2000-04-23

I have a tendency to imagine that there are others in the world who are living a more heightened, engaging life than I am.

An image that epitomizes this feeling is from the Woody Allen movie Stardust Memories. The main character is in a subway car where everyone looks like a Diane Arbus character. In a tunnel, his train passes another. He catches a glimpse of a car in the passing train: everyone is beautiful, sophisticated-looking, drinking martinis. It's like a 1930s screwball comedy; they all seem to be having a wonderful time.

On a recurring basis the notion plagues me that there is, in fact, a party car, and I'm not in it. And I see no future in which I am in it.

I don't always feel this way, and I'm sure a good exercise for me would be to try to figure out what seems to bring on the anxiety that there is this experience on which I'm missing out.

I'm still not completely convinced that there is no party car. Or maybe party car is not a place or time or set of external circumstances, but a state of mind.

I suppose that's sort of obvious.

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