Every once in a while, I entertain the idea that perhaps I am a tragic figure.
After all, I have just the right combination of egotism, pride, instability, jealousy, insecurity, intelligence, and wasted talent. And the self-awareness of it all seems profoundly Fitzgerald-esque. All I need is alcoholism, and judging by genetics, I’ve got that all lined up.
But it could just be me being melodramatic. I guess we’ll see.