I'm losing my fucking mind with all this work.  WHY AM I DOING IT?  I know it's some kind of stress response, that I'm trying to contain all the things that might happen by doing everything everwhichway to control the outcomes, that I'm worried about everybody going to college at the same time, Aaron in graduate school (what did we do in grad school besides lose ourselves and sleep with the wrong people? I discovered Derrida, which was not nearly enough of an upside), Ears and TJ getting hit with the first tsunami of Choices To Be Made, the Nun leaving me, all of that, so I work and work and work and the more I work the more work is given to me to do until I'm obliterated. But knowing all of that that doesn't make it stop. I always flee to books for answers but what if the answer I need is to the problem of not having time to read a book?

http://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/can-reading-make-you-happier?intcid=mod-most-popular