I selfishly and halfheartedly think about my own life’s purpose, then shift to thinking about Lydia, the girl, and what it would be like if she hadn’t been attacked and killed. Would she be sitting in her apartment thinking, idly, about the purpose of her life, until she met someone and had a child who would eventually sit, alone, in their apartment wondering, idly, about the purpose of their life? I’m annoyed by the mother’s need to find a positive spin.
