Member-only story
Friday night — which I’m not really enjoying yet because I’m still working; having gone from my day job to rehearsal and now to my writing. It becomes harder and harder to turn everything off. I have a bag full of books that I bought at The Strand — untouched; a few years ago, I might have been halfway through one already. I feel as if I buy books now just to feel connected to the texture, the physical texture, or feeling, of literature, in order to make up for the lost intellectual and emotional connection.
I wake up and go to bed every day with the fantasy that I will one day grow powerful enough to stop time — or to heal the fractures of time and the gnawing anxiety that comes with it.
I wake up and go to bed every day with the fantasy that I’ll be able to stop using my laptop one day. That I’ll be able to hire a typist or an assistant or a robot — anything that can mediate between me and the digital world.
I imagine other people have similar fantasies.
