I’ve just started reading “War and Peace”, written with great carefulness by the mighty Leo Tolstoy. Son of a bitch! I’m still concerned about the consequences of reading this book. I may be “young and restless” but I am also afraid of dying before I’ll finish the book. People who actually managed to surpass this highly stressful activity are smarter. Or they just pretend to be. If I read a big ass classic book, I’ll sure hope to sense some enlightenment afterward. Oh, and the burden of remembering all the facts and the process of making stupid connections between them will be absolutely overwhelming! But in a good way.
This is a serious existential issue. Ah, dammit! I’ll just follow my inner anarchic little brat.