twenty-eight years and a million words
Take a day that starts with a migraine, then add some grief from a car dealership, an auditor, and a failed hard drive. Then add a whiny two year old in the middle of the night. Perfection!
The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to such a pass that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love, and in order to occupy and distract himself without love he gives way to passions and coarse pleasures, and sinks to bestiality in his vices, all from continual lying to other men and to himself.
—Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov