Someone somewhere once built me a glass fishbowl and coaxed me inside with promises of safety and sanity. My fishbowl is quite nice. The water is clean and fresh. There are twenty-nine bright blue pebbles at the bottom, surrounding an aquatic plant with five frothy leaves. It is nice, but it is still a fishbowl, so it has rendered me blind.
Maybe the loneliness is at fault, or really the glass is the culprit, but I remain blind regardless of how intensely I ponder the cause. I am lucky. I can still see a little, see the shapes and colors and patterns that swim outside the curves of the class. They are people, or at least I have decided they are, but I know nothing about them.
That is not to say I know nothing. I have calculated the volumes of each air bubble in the glass. I have memorized each divot of each pebble. I have extensively documented each frothy leaf and every bit of stem. I may be blind, but I am not incapable.
If I were more capable I suppose I would find some way of piecing together the shapes and colors and patterns that swim outside the curves of the glass. But someone somewhere once built me a glass fishbowl and coaxed me inside with promises of safety and sanity.