I suppose there’s really no better time to come down with a cold than the week between Christmas and New Year’s, when time doesn’t seem to exist and, as I tweeted a few days ago, it feels like you’re living inside an instantaneous moment like when Jodie Foster fell through the wormhole machine in Contact. You know when she visits her dad on the weird planet with the backwards tide but later it’s revealed she never left the launching pad? That’s now. We’re in that. Time is meaningless, space is nonexistent, and, even if we explained what transpired this week to anyone outside of it (which is no one and everyone), they wouldn’t believe us – for to them, this week never took place.
Maybe I’ve been cooped up inside for too long.
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