Amazon now delivers groceries. I already have Prime for dog food, coffee, and shampoo, so with Amazon partnering with Whole Foods, I shouldn’t have to leave the house for like, a year. Even if I do, Wal-Mart now has curbside service and we all know that Wal-mart is the portal to hell. Who’d wanna go inside? Curbside is close enough, thanks.
Netflix and CNN are there to remind me of some of the reasons why I’m an introvert. I mean, with meth-head zombies roaming and having visions of the dark lord, who needs to go out? It’s another Wal-Mart situation.
So, my question is this: if I can work online, shop online, and socialize online, why the hell would I even approach the door? I mean, I can see from my doorbell cam that it’s like an all out apocalypse out there.
Sure, Fed Ex and UPS may have to be militarized, but hey, being an introvert isn’t for everybody.
So why would I go out? Why would I go all Mad Max and venture out into the wasteland?
If you come to my house at two in the afternoon, I will probably still be in my pajamas. I won’t have combed my hair and I probably haven’t been out of the bed very long.
I am not lazy. I do have a job. I am a writer.
Sometimes, I write all night and can still get up and do all the things that normal people do, but that won’t be the day that you come to visit. The day you come visit me, I will have stayed up till dawn, slept two hours, and then managed to make it to the coffee pot before hitting the sofa to do it again.
I know not all writers have this crazy existence, but a lot of us do.
When I was in the sixth grade, we had a substitute teacher for about three days. My regular teacher failed to leave any kind of lesson plan for the substitute, so she was left trying to do something to keep twenty-five eleven and twelve-year-olds busy. This smart lady brought Stephen King’s “It” to class and read it aloud.
It was both the beginning and the end. It was the beginning of a lifelong love of reading and writing and all things Stephen King. It was the end of my doing any reading assignments that involved anything less than what I considered to be the equivalent of that book.
I outright refused to waste my time reading articles or books in which I was not interested, to the dismay of my parents and teachers. I would spend my time reading the books that were considered fringe for my age and my grades could just suffer.
Until I was in the tenth grade and met Mr. Edward Rochester. Oh, how a few years can change things!