i note the errant romantic notion of the unwritten book, placed in a drawer, displaced by an errant child, tossed in a truck and buried in a landfill hill with pipes sticking up off-gassing the fumes of errant literature and pamper diapers that turns out to exist in disappointingly truncated form in a different drawer found after the errant diarist's death, and how it persists for generations as a quasi autobiographical narrative like schrödinger's cat which clearly never existed in life.