I know exact­ly why I was happy

In a vacu­um all pho­tons tra­vel at the same speed. They slow down when tra­vel­ling through air or water or glass. Pho­tons of dif­fe­rent ener­gies are slo­wed down at dif­fe­rent rates. If Tol­s­toy had known this, would he have reco­g­nis­ed the ter­ri­ble untruth at the begin­ning of Anna Kare­ni­na? ‚All hap­py fami­lies are ali­ke; every unhap­py fami­ly is unhap­py in its own par­ti­cu­lar way.‘ In fact it’s the other way around. Hap­pi­ness is a spe­ci­fic. Mise­ry is a gene­ra­li­sa­ti­on. Peo­p­le usual­ly know exact­ly why they are hap­py. They very rare­ly know why they are mise­ra­ble. (…) Mise­ry is a vacu­um. A space wit­hout air, a suf­fo­ca­ted dead place, the abo­de of the mise­ra­ble. Mise­ry is a tene­ment block, rooms like bat­tery cages, sit over your own drop­pings, lie on your own filth. Mise­ry is a no U‑turns, no stop­ping road. Tra­vel down it pushed by tho­se behind, trip­ped by tho­se in front. Tra­vel down it at furious speed though the days are mum­mi­fied in lead. It hap­pens so fast once you get star­ted, there’s no anchor from the real world to slow you down, not­hing to hold on to. Mise­ry pulls away the bra­ckets of life lea­ving you to free fall. Wha­te­ver your pri­va­te hell, you’ll find mil­li­ons like it in Mise­ry. This is the town whe­re everyone’s night­ma­res come true.
(Jea­nette Win­ter­son – Writ­ten on the Body)

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