I love Vonnegut’s phrase, “unstuck in time.” I’ve said, on many occasions, I have a sort of temporal dysphoria. I’ve never felt as though I belonged in the time, in the moment, the year, the week, that I seem to physically inhabit. I have no idea why, really. Maybe it does stem from my immersion in geology and paleontology, having an intense sense of deep time. How many people think in millions or billions of years on a daily basis, or even in tens of thousands of years? I sit amid Cambrian-aged boulders, slate from sediment deposited at the bottom of an ocean, say, 550 million years ago. I sit there and lay my hands on the stone, and I am touching the past.
What’s with the “heroin and hookers”? To quote Bartelby, “You have to keep reading.”