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David Foster Wallace; Caribbean Cruise
So, not all travel is good. If you want to take a darker view of vacationing, read "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again." I mean, sure, you've probably already read it. But read it again, because you'll maybe feel better about the fact that you might not even be able to afford going on vacation? Wallace makes travel sound so terrible, that you'll really be able to feel quite superior for not going anywhere at all, and in fact just staying put in Brooklyn. After all, when you read something like this—“I felt despair. The word’s overused and banalified now, despair, but it’s a serious word, and I’m using it seriously. For me it denotes a simple admixture — a weird yearning for death combined with a crushing sense of my own smallness and futility that presents as a fear of death. It’s maybe close to what people call dread or angst. But it’s not these things, quite. It’s more like wanting to die in order to escape the unbearable feeling of becoming aware that I’m small and weak and selfish and going without any doubt at all to die. It’s wanting to jump overboard.”—you're not going to want to move an inch, except maybe to go to the corner bar and drown your despair in a pint of Evil Twin Pilsner or something. Go ahead and do it. That's definitely one form of escape.
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