I sent that male-betrayal thing I wrote about yesterday to an ex-girlfriend, and she wrote back today and basically said “Wow, you’re still angry at something that happened 36 years ago? Shouldn’t you be serene and cosmic and burning incense at this stage in your life?”

Response: “I’m not actively pissed off about this, not really, but it did happen, and it was fun to resuscitate it. I’m okay with Bob. He’s a good fellow. But what’s past is present and vice versa. The ghosts swirl around us. I live with stuff that happened when I was 8 or 20 or 42 just as vividly as when these incidents were fresh. That’s the joy of writing about this and that every day. Nothing is dusty or faded. Everything that has ever happened or will happen is alive and crackling.

“And I must tell you I’m well past being concerned about whether this or that post will reflect well or ill upon me. I get shat upon every day of the week and twice on Sundays on Twitter. There is no tranquility in this life for someone like myself. Not with guys like Glenn Kenny in the world. No solace, no serenity, no plateau. Well, there’s happiness in fits and starts, of course, but certainly not as a going proposition. There’s only the next story to write, the next film to see, the next experience, the next encounter, the next festival, the next interview…the river of it all. And it’s the happiest period of my life, by far.”