You want me to plan out my summer? No, I don't want to, I want to stay in bed and sleep till noon, get up to have a leisurely French lunch, walk across the park next to our house to the local branch of the national library to pick up a book of ancient Chinese poems and get drunk on the melodies that no one pays any attention to these days, walk back for an Italian dinner, write a few lines of half-baked poetry, always left to be finished tomorrow (which never comes), and finally, after a long, hot, sensuous shower, reenter the welcoming recess of my blankets to conjoin those ancient Chinese lines to the lines buried in my many-layered unconscious. But I know that summers are longer than they seem, while the attention span of man is infinitely shorter. I will end up spending the lengthy days sitting behind a book, a magazine, a (heaven forbid) newspaper, trying my best to persuade myself how the words in front of me are relevant to life, a life, my life instead of just another throwaway to pass the time when I'm not with friends; such as when at night I'm unable to leave the house and my only connection to the outer world is by internet, so I stake out in front of my computer staring at the screen, switching between facebook, MSN, BBS, and Gmail, waiting for something, anything, to happen so that my existence can once again be reaffirmed by the break of the monotonous routine of click, click, click, click, click. Yet still I don't want to plan my summer. Where's my madeleine? -- 英语文工作室 http://www.wretch.cc/blog/jsengstudio/ 个板 defenestrate --

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