You're in your thirties, you wish you could go back in time, and you need some cheering up.
If you're anything like me, you tend to spiral down into the dark places of your mind once in a while. One negative thought entrains another, and before you realize it, you're making the list of everything that's wrong in your life and in the world at large without being able to stop yourself.
Shim Sham Shimmy cheesecake
It was a sunny May afternoon of 1995 when I found the notebook. Black and leather-bound, it stood out from the green tufts of grass that peeked out between the gnarly roots of the big oak tree I was leaning against—my lunch companion of the day. It must have been forgotten by someone; a student perhaps, or one of my fellow lecturers. I didn’t grab it immediately, first glancing around the Rockefeller Rose Garden to check whether someone might be looking for it. Most of the visitors seemed unconcerned, strolling through the bushes and literally stopping to smell the flowers here and there. So, I picked it up, and flipped it open to the first page, telling myself it was okay, because I was just looking for a name or an address. I knew how frustrating it could be to lose a notebook, for I had lost quite a few in cafés, parks and other places I deemed appropriate for capturing the elusive flow of my thoughts at random hours of the day.