Throughout the past week I am alarmed at my own alarm resulting from the lack of regular access to the internet. I am fearful that I have forgotten how to be human and that it takes an awkward, slightly embarrassing amount of effort to do something native to the human condition. Like getting on a bike and riding it downtown; taking a walk alone in unknown territory; taking in a baseball game. Anything that is natural now takes an unnatural amount of planning while that which is not natural to the human condition (i.e. sitting and moving only one’s fingers for hours on end) is a reality for most.
I keep veering away from thinking too much about this because it makes me terribly nostalgic. No wonder I am content in complete immersion into the world of literature and fiction. Musty old books are breathing more than we; their pages leap with life while ours continue down the blandest route humanity has ever known, although, don’t worry, we do so oh-so-efficiently and at unforeseen speeds. Well, I always thought that if my death were to be quick it would be painless, but it is not so.
Pardon me while I answer a text message about nothing. At least it’s instant.
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