in praise of uselessness - by Ava - bookbear express

I’m recovering from a flu and watching John Wick, a movie about a man who goes on a revenge spree because an asshole kills the puppy his late wife gave him. John Wick is my favorite movie, other than Phantom Thread, which is about a dressmaker who falls in love with a waitress. Being sick kind of reminds me of a drug trip, everything zoomed in and blurry and slow motion. I crank the heat up to 77 and wander around my own apartment like a zombie. While I’ve been sick I’ve been unable to think. My mind feels both frenetic and inchoate. I’ve been entirely useless. But I’ve also been feeling that uselessness is not without its charms. Uselessness is what I think of when I read the Didion line about “extreme and doomed commitments, promises made and somehow kept outside the range of normal social experience.” Useless as in: not practical. No easy path to financial or personal gain. Deemed pointless, perhaps even harmful, by others. Useless is how I describe the kind of gifts I like most: ex

I’m recovering from a flu and watching John Wick, a movie about a man who goes on a revenge spree because an asshole kills the puppy his late wife gave him. John Wick is my favorite movie, other than Phantom Thread, which is about a dressmaker who falls in love with a waitress. Being sick kind of reminds me of a drug trip, everything zoomed in and blurry and slow motion. I crank the heat up to 77 and wander around my own apartment like a zombie. While I’ve been sick I’ve been unable to think. My mind feels both frenetic and inchoate. I’ve been entirely useless. But I’ve also been feeling that