I was typing up a computer entry for a book card yesterday when I stopped and
started staring off into space. It’s kinda scary when I do that because I’ll
come back a few minutes later, look at the screen, look at what I was doing,
and think, where the heck did I go? I’ve done this since I was 6 at least.
That’s when daydreaming got to be noticeable, I suppose. When teachers
would pass me and I’d be staring, comotose like into a wall.

When I was out in Colorado for a week, I found myself doing this at one point
while typing up a letter on the computer. Wedge, one of Max’s former
roommates, noticed it. I snapped out of it when I saw him watching me. I
brought my eyes back into focus and looked back at him, smiling slightly.
“Where’d you go?” he laughed. “I do that sometimes,” I responded.

This time, I came to, looking at the “Auth” field on the window. Instead of
the next author’s name, I started typing. I typed three paragraphs about
what it would be like to have a conversation with a serial murderer and not
realize it. Then I saved it to a WordPerfect document and went back to
typing in author names.