The accidental existentialist

FOR my 33rd birthday, a friend - who evidently thinks that I am walking around in a brain fog every day - gave me a book titled The Art Of Thinking Clearly.

I remember proclaiming loudly that I did not read self-help books and after looking in askance at the header of the first chapter ("Why you should visit cemeteries"), I promptly closed the book and chucked it aside.

It wasn't till months later that, out of utter boredom, I removed it from its "resting area" and thumbed through it.