Writing Practice, May 26 2015

We decided to install a room in our house. It seems selfish, but a lot of couples are doing it these days. The standard apartment of today is around 300 square feet, which doesn’t leave a lot of room for privacy, you know. You’re really in each others space a lot. So we bought the thing. You know, oh, what’s it called? The time box? Yeah. It, um, it looks like a futuristic coffin, all shiny copper. No, it might not be real copper, but that’s what it looks like. The box looks incredibly ahead of its time and also a thousand years old. It doesn’t look like there’s a lot of room in there, but it has a sort of isolation chamber effect where the mind makes it seem limitless. And when you’re in there, that’s the real kicker. It’s like time stops. You go in and tap the button to seal it, and the clocks stop turning. You can stay in there as long as you want, and not only will you not age or tire or anything, neither will anyone else. You can go in there and take an hour or two, and when you come out everything in the world is absolutely the same. That way, there’s no fomo. You can get away without the world moving on without you. Oh, yes, it was expensive. We had to give up quite a lot of our childhood memories to pay for it. But I couldn’t live without it, now.


writing morning pages


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Writing Practice, May 27 2015 Sid thumbed the envelope he’d just picked up after having dropped it in a violent panic, the sort of reaction you can’t help but make when they’ve