“I remember once imagining what my life would be like, what I’d be like. I pictured having all these qualities, strong positive qualities that people could pick up on from across the room.

But as time passed, few ever became any qualities that I actually had. And all the possibilities I faced and the sorts of people I could be, all of them got reduced every year to fewer and fewer. Until finally they got reduced to one, to who I am.

And that’s who I am, the weather man.”

Is that life is really fucking lonely?

I just feel like all I do all day long is manage myself. Try to fucking connect with people. But it’s like no matter how much energy you pour into, getting to the station on time or getting on the right train. There’s still no fucking guarantee that anybody’s gonna be there for you, to pick you up when you get there. You know what I mean?

“Well, I know that. If you think life’s a vending machine. Where you put in virtue, and you get out happiness, then you’re probably gonna be disappointed.”

I know that. Is that how I sound?

“A little.”