Sometimes when going about my day-t0-day life and frittering away my limited leisure time, I take a moment to think about how I might explain my actions to a colonial settler who was mysteriously transported through time and space to my apartment.
(I’ve had this weird recurring dream since childhood where a colonial girl my age winds up in our time, and I take on the duty of showing her that technology isn’t witchcraft.) ((Don’t ask me to explain my brain.)) (((I probably just read too many of these.)))
“Well you see, I own Sleepless in Seattle on DVD, but the DVD player is all the way in the other room and I want to watch it in bed so I’m logging on to Netflix.”
Then I feel useless and think to myself that I ought to put on some real clothes and build something with my hands.