Actually it's more like a sour kind of glee

[desperance]

So I was lying in bed this morning reflecting on a dream, and thinking "Schadenfreude is the only joy" - and then I thought how much that sounded like a story title, and then I realised that I was awake enough to be thinking about story titles, and then I got up.

And a little after that I discovered that the mildly resentful sense of superior virtue you feel at being up stupid early on a Sunday morning is not at all harmed by the fact that your wife has got up also. It's pure soap to the last bubble, undiluted by company; all the rest of the idle world is still abed, and we are not, for we have stuff to do.

I am ongoingly entranced by the complexity of feelings. Adulthood is layering, I guess.