My Year of Rest and Relaxation

by Ottessa Moshfegh

I was both relieved and irritated when Reva showed up, the way you’d feel if someone interrupted you in the middle of suicide.

I thought that if I did normal things—held down a job, for example—I could starve off the part of me that hated everything.

And yet I was aware of the nothingness. I was awake in the sleep, somehow. I felt good. Almost happy.

I’d been stupid to believe that employment would add value to my life.