Worrying about money.
Worrying about the world.
Worrying about specks of dust.
Watching too much TV.
Reading about people who are living their lives.
Writing about all of the above.
Eventually I will spend so much time inside of my own head that I will simply implode and that will be the end of that: Death by Implosion.
My case will be studied by medical experts worldwide and a new medication will be developed to make people examine their external world instead of taking a magnifying glass to their thoughts 24 hours a day. People who have been hiding out for years will venture forth into the light of day, blinking and rubbing their eyes and speaking and touching, maybe even hugging and clapping and singing. They will communicate face to face. They will know their neighbor’s eye color. They will know the names of the dogs that run in the park. They will not have to use symbols to indicate their joy because other people will see them smiling and laughing out loud, even rolling on the floor laughing.
The holdouts (those who refuse to medicate) will have to go underground, literally, and live on the fringes of society where they never speak to anyone, not even each other. They will each think they are the one and only; they will believe they are right. They will know the world through screens—computer and television—and through sound, but never in real time and never in the brilliance of reality.
I hope they name a park after me.