I've been sitting with my computer this morning trying to write about the rabbit hole. The trouble is I am trying to write profoundly and well. It is not possible. It comes out stilted, artificial. I am giving up for the day. I will try to write it in my shotgun style later. It is the only way I can write. Well, except for academic writing which is only interesting to those who are interested. But that sort of writing will never grow a crowd.
There. That feels better already. I've been wearing an iron cap all morning. Let me not try to be Proust. Proust is too slow. Everything moves at internet speed now. That is the rabbit hole. There is no savoring bits of information. The internet promotes greed. Nothing is ever enough. You can do what used to take weeks or months or even years in a few minutes, but the hours pass quickly while you take turn after crooked turn. Faster faster, quicker quicker.
What I've learned is that her life was tragic in the common sense. It never reached great heights. Why? That is what concerns me. I want it to have. Why do I care? I mean, it seems weird. Looking up facts about her life, I feel like a creeper, a stalker. Each internet search slimes me anew.
It is remarkable what you can learn about a person very quickly on the internet without really learning anything about the person at all. You find data. You construct meaning. And as Dr. Fauci says, a model is only as good as the assumptions you provide it.
I'll be better telling bits and pieces at a time. Data. With each new piece, the picture changes. It is like spilling coffee on a masterpiece, or putting lipstick on a pig.
The morning was overcast, but now the sky is blue and bright. I think I'll take a long walk. I've stared at computer screens too much the past couple of days. Fresh air and sunshine will be the bromide I need. As bad as times are. . . .
There is a v.p. debate tonight. I have learned my lesson. I will tape it.
Tape? What am I going to use, a VCR?