The Perversity of Memory
I was 21 and going to school in Shippensburg PA. I had suffered a nervous breakdown I told no one about and was desperately trying to drink myself to death. The agitation was almost unbearable. Yet I inexplicably look back upon that year with fondness. How is this so? Obviously I agree with E.M. Cioran when he says, "I remember a place I have been only if I have had the luck to experience utter misery there."