Practice makes impatient. I want to know without having to learn. The time spent in medical school is time withheld from treating patients who are in dire need of medical attention. Prospective dentists could save many more teeth if not for the delay in earning the right to engage in dentistry. Nonsense, of course. Simplicity is an impossible objective. If I were to sleep during my trip to the optometrist this morning, I would feel more rested when I arrive; but I would not arrive because alert consciousness is necessary to avoid traffic accidents. Yet it may be possible to convince oneself that the “car almost drives itself.”
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My eldest brother emailed a book to me yesterday—Time Shelter, by Bulgarian writer Georgi Gospodinov. Fortunately for me, the book he sent was an English translation. Though I’ve only skimmed through the first chapter thus far, I can tell the writing, the theme, and the story itself combine to make an intriguing read (for me, anyway). My posts on this blog, in which I muse about the nature of time, prompted my brother to send the book to me. I am fascinated by the concept of time and the ease with which “time changes everything.” Time simultaneously is rigid and endlessly flexible. Looking at the world through each of time’s many lenses is both enormously satisfying and hopelessly confusing. The concept of time travel is moderately frightening; physically moving oneself while visiting a temporary dimension of time can cause potentially deadly dislocations upon returning to the original moment, but in a different place. Movement in the absence of time has the potential for tearing reality into ragged strips, leaving only shreds of uncertainty where facts once stood.
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There’s nothing more of consequence inside my head. I need conversation to rekindle creativity.
