The ache of ambition without toxicity

[Everything between April 05 to April 30, Thursday] DataMovies watched: 4 (2 in a cinema hall) Coffee cups: 5 It is a struggle to begin writing this because there is a state of immediate doom in the words to come. I am indifferent to time. I am not depressed. For the most part I feel happy, content, and harbour a deep affection for my life. But what I do with my time is a pit of aimlessness that I am unable to get past, of deep set indifference. Perhaps a question circles me like a shark, when nothing I do matters, what do I spend time on anyway? I am sitting under a fig tree. And figs are rotting. (More about this in The Bell Jar section of the piece here) I would like to read the fig tree again anyway, so here it is below: "I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and…