I should be working, but my mind just can’t seem to focus.
My mind’s adrift.
I should do something.
I should read.
I WAS LYING on the floor of my bedroom, praying to God to save Jamie, whom I adored, from all harm. When I came to, someone seemed to have taken away most of my furniture. I was in a blank space unbounded by dimension or time. The apartment had been almost entirely emptied. A mattress remained on the floor, and one book remained, the Brownstone Eclogues. No: over there, a book of translations of a German poet, whose name disappears on me every time I read it, sits on the windowsill. The rest of my books had performed a vanishing act. I went to the mirror. Coolberg’s face looked back at me. As in a Cocteau film, I fell into the mirror and swam in the glass. (Chapter 28, The Soul Thief by Charles Baxter)
That was probably the shortest chapter I’ve ever read.
Maybe it’s about time to finish reading this book already; it’s been long overdue.
Hopefully, I'd regain focus after that.
I miss you, C.