I slid down the rabbit hole and landed in depression boulevard. At this juncture, I did what any normal, responsible gal will do during such bottomed out emotional times: I updated my will to reflect my recent clothing purchases, made some last minute revisions to my already prepared incase of emergency suicide note (mama I would rather you bury me in my new Alexander Wang gown and not my Dior sheath as originally requested); and then finally, I tried to tackle the problem at hand. Why was this book depressing to me now? More importantly, what was wrong with my judgment two years earlier when I thought One Fifth was Manhattan's version of The Notebook ? Well, after much thought, my conundrum gave way to today’s lesson of the day:
NEVER TRUST THE FEELING OF CONTENTMENT YOU GET WHEN ON A VACATION OR AT A BAR. IN ANY ROUTINE WEEK, ONLY TRUST THE FEELING YOU HAVE AT 2.P.M ON A WEDNESDAY.