Spaced

I watched a show on telly that reminded me of living with Artboy. I don't like this but I am sure it is momentary. I've been thinking about time machines and stepping and restepping plot points and nailed down tracks.

Wouldn't it be grand to zip forwards then know in a flash what it is that one should do this instant to make the final picture all it could be. Should I be sitting here hunched and typing? Should I burn that freshly printed manuscript? Should I wake up tomorrow or is that in itself going to be the new error of my ways?

There is no possible way of knowing. It seems like a case of packing both my snorkel and my hiking boots. When Anne of Green Gables went off to college she was very excited about not knowing what was going to happen next. She said it is the bend in the road that is thrilling. It should be perfectly clear by now that one is not Anne of Green Gables (sorry about the 'one' business but I am occasionally partial to the impersonal third person). What should be perfectly clear by now is that I am a person that spazzes around bumping into things with intermittent pauses for thinking and admiring things.

I sometimes pause with my key in the front door to admire the invention of locks. It is like a tiny miracle. You simply push your tiny metal object into a seemingly solid surface, turn it a little and huzzah! you can swing open a wall to gain access. Excellent invention those locks.