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the writer's well
Wednesday, July 21 1999
According to Matt Rogers, one of the many creepy things Franz Kafka said concerned his view of utopia. Reportedly, Kafka once stated that his ideal situation would be to live at the bottom of a deep well and have his food, paper and pens lowered to him in a bucket, which he would then fill with his feces and writings to be returned to the surface for the enjoyment of the world.
As strange as that vision of utopia might sound to your average SUV-craving American, I can definitely relate. It's become nearly impossible for me to find quality time to write. When I write at work, I have to do so in a tiny window for short bursts, since I don't want people inquiring as to how I can possibly be coding so quickly. Even then, there's the constant paranoia that someone will appear out of nowhere and start reading over my shoulder. So I don't write much at work, and what I do write there never really taps into that crucial quality I'll call, for lack of a better term, abandon.
Then, when I get home, the surveillance goes on, except the distraction is Kim. While at least she knows I'm writing and she has a sense that I want time alone to do it, she doesn't really understand what my needs are either. Sometimes she wants to hang out with me while I'm writing, even trying to talk to me or get me to do things. Sometimes she'll happen by and ask me about things on my screen or suspiciously quiz me about emails I've just read. In this way, her intrusion is far worse than any I face at work. When I complain and ask for privacy or time alone, she gets defensive and contentious, arguing that I'd only want those things if I had something to hide. She doesn't understand my need to tap into abandon, or if she does, she's very suspicious of it. About the only recourse I have is to throw a fit, which only serves to devour more of my precious time.
Today for the first time I systematically presented the facts of the situation, that she, a very social person, has long tracts of time by herself to do as she wants while I, more of loner by nature, have no time alone excepting Saturday nights (and even then, I still have to deal with random people dropping by).
While I can present these arguments in a logical way such that Kim can understand them and even agree with me, her emotions still appear to be wrapped up with the possibility haunting her subconscious that my writing is just a grand plot to avoid her. So I have my doubts that the situation will ever be rectified. I may never be able to write with the freedom I crave until I dig myself one of Kafka's wells.
[REDACTED]
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