Here I am in the theater; people are drinking and laughing; I’m with friends; I know that I am happy because if it all went away, I would miss it.
Someone (a reader) asks me what I’m writing—I freeze—but the answer is this diary!
The whole point is that this moment is not safe from giving way to the next; awareness of time is awareness that consciousness is constantly dying into the next phase of consciousness; every version of being here is constantly gone. We are an infinite collection of dead (past) selves.
My range of experience is quite narrow: a small range of people and places in the city-state known as New York City.