Little Weeds of Dread
A sobering comparison occurred to me last night: the same way that I can never again fully enjoy the software on the little devices in our pockets and on our wrists, knowing as I do how an app is made and being able to spot when one is not made well, perpetually bracing myself for whatever horrors await at the end of each flickering transition and every unrelenting activity indicator – it is like the anxiety of becoming parent, a parent who was once a child also but whose simple childhood joy has since been choked by the little weeds of dread that take root in the soul of every adult, as one cannot reach adulthood without acquiring unspeakable knowledge, accompanied by horrifying detail, of how a life is made and how easily a life can be unmade.