Where does contemplation end and self-absorbtion begin? How is it possible not to think about yourself, or not put yourself first in your thoughts? How did we get to this place where we cast our lots out into the world and hope that somehow they come back to us via some kind of electronic message? What kind of world will this girl be living in in 10 years, when she's 13 or so and today's age of constant information will seem like the quiet years? How did we get to the point when it's now considered rude to interrupt a person on the phone while they're walking down the street?
I feel like I want to write a story here, but reticence is getting the better of me. Or maybe it's just the desire to engage in some self-contemplation that I'm not yet ready to share with the unwashed masses of the internet, or maybe not even share them at all. Maybe with the clouds outside and the air conditioner on, I just want to sit here in silence for a while, lulled ever closer to a nap by its hum. I'll grab a notebook and a pen, get on the couch, and lazily write until I slip out of consciousness.
Veni, Vidi, Sleepy.
No comments:
Post a Comment