I feel calm and excited at the same time. I’ve accomplished something, and from now on I am free to do away with the cumbersome timestamps.
Dead End: A Philosophical Diary is about 355 pages, a concentration of nearly 30 years of scribblings. That’s enough. It spans 1987 through early 2014.
With this “work in progress,” I might just stick to writing essays in the manner of Cioran.