i just finished reading what i can only describe as a hauntingly beautiful chapter of kierkegaard's the sickness unto death. it left me thinking about how i always choose seemingly dour summer reads. while everyone's walking about with on the road or candace bushnell's latest (ha) i've got the wealth of nations or morris' biographies of theodore roosevelt or something. maybe unconsciously i worry that the sun will dull my brain. whatever the case may be, kierkegaard's treatise on despair is kind of a downer. christian existentialism? am i really going there? christ.