Point Omega

What would it be like, living in slow motion?

The guard purified the occasion, made it finer and rarer. But what was he guarding? The silence maybe.

For weeks there had been nothing to do but talk. Now nothing to say.

Nothing happened that was not marked by her absence.

Then I thought of the shed, how had we forgotten the shed. I felt a strange brainless elation.

Consciousness accumulates. It begins to reflect upon itself. Something about this feels almost mathematical to me. There's almost some law of mathematics or physics that we haven't quite hit upon, where the mind transcends all direction inward. The omega point

Jessie rotated the glasses and dishes in the cabinet so we wouldn't use the same ones all the time and neglect the others. She did this in periodic spells of energy, a person possessed, working out a systematic arrangement in the sink, in the drain basket and on the shelves. Her father encouraged this. He dried the plates and then watched her shelve them, each in its determined slot. She was functioning, she was helping out around the house and she was doing it to an extreme degree, which was good, which was great, he said, because what's the meaning of doing dishes if you're not driven by something beyond sheer necessity.

you reveal everything, bare every feeling, ask for understanding, you lose something crucial to your sense of yourself.

Tell her everything you feel, tell her everything you do. That's why she thinks you're crazy.

She was her father's dream thing. He didn't seem baffled by her stunted response to his love. It was natural for him not to notice. I'm not sure he understood the fact that she was not him.