It’s a very Amazon happiness, tenuous and a little guilty and heavily contingent on drinking—with authors, with colleagues, with myself at night when I need to forget that in nine hours I have to get up and do it all over again. It feels weird to be happy working for a company so intensely loathed. And feeling happy also makes me worry I’m just not paying close enough attention, that I’ve become blind to my own inadequacies and now they’ll lead to my doom.
