The wind blew hard last night the bedroom window was open I was too lazy to get up and close it. I was thinking of writing my biography but found my life was too tedious to write about it, Anyway I have only come alive for the last thirty years before that, I lived in a bubble of self-loathing, Of course, I could have written about my many illnesses but I dislike self-pity. I used to be a seafarer and remember vaguely how bored it made me after ten years; sea life is for losers. I could have written about women there has been a few, but most of my affairs were insignificant, *** has no purpose if love is not involved. I finally got up found a blanket and slept till nine. Self-biography is mostly self-serving, and we only remember the right part and our pretension.