Status Updates From Herzog

Herzog, tragically sipping milk in Philadelphia, a frail hopeful lunatic, tipping the carton to quiet his stomach and drown his unquiet mind, courting sleep. He was thinking of Marco, Daisy, Sono Oguki, Madeleine, the Pontritters, and now and then of the difference between ancient and modern tragedy, according to Hegel, the inner experience of the heart and the deepening of individual character in the modern age.

You got trouble, I can see that. Jumping out of your skin. You got a soul-haven't you, Moses." He shook his head, smoking his cigarette with two stained fingers pressed to his mouth, his voice rumbling. "Can't dump the sonofabitch, can we? Terrible handicap, a soul."
Moses answered in a low voice. "I'm not even sure I've got the thing still."

It's not the worst thing I've read, but I'm really not enjoying this. With a definite, limited life-force, I can't help but think I'd rather use it reading something better. I'm considering stopping here, breaking from my long-established completionist tendencies.