This is Water by David Foster Wallace

we unconsciously worship ourselves: everyday, in every possible situation, any chance we get. it is hard not to get caught up in the never-ending monologue dominating our minds, the metacognition, meta-metacognition thinking about our thinking about our thinking. how many people have gone to school, fatigued, hungry, emotions in a turmoil? these days (sadly, most days for most people) the unfair long lines, the huge jams, the unplanned-for hurdles, anger us– “what are these fools doing? don’t you know how to queue properly? how to hurry up? how to respect others?  You are in my way.

in this world there’s only one kind of truth with a capital T– that we have a choice.

but oh the irony that the speaker suffered from depression almost throughout his life


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