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" This time, something different happens, though. It’s the daydreaming that does it. I’m doing the usual
thing—imagining in tiny detail the entire course of the relationship, from first kiss, to bed, to moving in
together, to getting married (in the past I have even organized the track listing of the party tapes), to how
pretty she’ll look when she’s pregnant, to names of children—until suddenly I realize that there’s
nothing left to actually, like, happen. I’ve done it all, lived through the whole relationship in my head.
I’ve watched the film on fast-forward; I know the whole plot, the ending, all the good bit. Now I’ve got
to rewind and watch it all over again in real time, and where’s the fun in that?
And fucking … when’s it all going to fucking stop? I’m going to jump from rock to rock for the rest of
my life until there aren’t any rocks left? I’m going to run each time I get itchy feet? Because I get them
about once a quarter, along with the utilities bills. More than that, even, during British Summer Time.
I’ve been thinking with my guts since I was fourteen years old, and frankly speaking, between you and
me, I have come to the conclusion that my guts have shit for brains. "
― Nick Hornby , High Fidelity
