One doesn't want to be dogmatic about these things, but existence seemed to be much more pleasant a few months ago. Granted, days of mind-numbing labor rowing the academic triremes, and limited libraries, having to shift countries every several weeks, bare-bones budgeting, etc, etc. But music, theatre, stability of life, etc. As it turns out, rowing the triremes is more conducive to a productive existence than is being driven off the ship. Perhaps only at first. The beginning of Priestley's Good Companions comes to mind.
Degrees of existence -- and the important point is the order of magnitude (or perhaps the magnitude of the order) that they all inhabit. I repeat this because it is the truth governing my reality generally -- three careers torpedoed, and standard of living presently very low. Though that's not much of a change. I've always been at least proximate to the church-mouse tax bracket. Still, though -- it's not an exaggeration to call this mode of life a gulag.
I'm very scrupulous about hygiene and laundry, especially when travelling, but the fashion look is skewing a little to "Luke the Drifter" of late. They say you should dress for the job you want. I appear to aspire to the position of a Zek of the first circle.
I do need to shift the writing -- both to make more words, and to re-institute the daily reflections, now that I've landed. TK.