Sequence

Read these two excerpts and tell me which one you like better…

This one, a mishmash of sentences as they occurred to the writer (me):

Early morning light crept across the dirt floor.  When would they come for him? What monstrous hour would be his time? Steve watched a spider build its web between the two metal bars of his cot. He noted the beads of dew on the web without really seeing them, without seeing the spider or its red belly, without caring about a potential bite from its venomous fangs.  Down the hall, keys rattled on a heavy chain, a door clanked and a prisoner whined something unintelligible.  Somewhere, within the compound but farther away, two other men laughed.  It was not the sound of two men sharing a joke.  Steve squatted on the ground, pulling his legs up until even his toes were covered by the darkness.

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Net Surfing-ADD

I’ve just discovered that I have a dreadful condition that I was only vaguely aware of before.  I call it NS-ADD (Net Surfing-Attention Deficit Disorder.)  Someone else has probably already given it a different name, but that’s what I’m calling it.  This illness is most unusual for me.  Normally I have supreme powers of concentration, almost trance-like at times.

I think I have discovered a cure.  I liken surfing-the-net to racing down the interstate at 70 mph to arrive at an exotic destination.  I want to see everything, but yet I am in a neurotic rush to arrive.  When I finally take the off-ramp, 35 mph seems little better than a four-limbed drunken crawl.

After I’ve checked my e-mail, read the latest headlines, consulted the weather, plotted my horoscope, watched a few YouTubes and increased my Christmas Wish List, I am ready to read my favorite online e-mags.  At least, I think I’m ready, but I am not.  I am still suffering from a sense of accelerated speed, callous indifference to any slow build-up, and Wow-Me with every word syndrome.

My Cure: Ultra Simplistic, no pills, no treatment – I log on to the e-mag, get up, walk around, breathe, and perhaps gazed at some Monet (my fave) or listen to some Bach (I do like techno these days, but that does not have the same affect.)  And then, only then, am I ready to READ.  Until this moment of tranquility arrives, I am utterly incapable of giving the craftsmanship a fair assessment.

Does anyone else suffer from this condition???