我時常幻想這樣一個畫面：自己伏在墻角面對窗戶的桌前，點著一盞台燈，在紙張上塗畫著什麽。有時候塗出來的是線條，有時候是方塊，有時候不安分的它們四處亂跑，組成一個個文字後才願意停在橫線上待命。

這樣的場景也未嘗不可：散落的紙張被收進桌上的文件櫃——這個文件櫃是由黑色的塑料灌注而成的，上下共分為四層抽屜，三層用來存放文件的稍薄，最底層用來存放雜物的最厚重，櫃子的外部是啞光的，內壁卻總能反射出我的眼睛——里，我從書架上抽出一本精裝書，努力將封面連同書頁一同向後側折向對方，直到聽不到書脊的呻吟聲為止。接著在暖黃的燈光下，我努力跟隨著文字的腳步，在某個未知的世界里旅行著。

但現在這些於我而言都變成了奢望。我的寫字桌成為了了一套無聊的課桌椅。

I often fantasise about a picture of myself at a table in the corner of a wall facing a window, with a lamp lit, scribbling something on a piece of paper. Sometimes they are lines, sometimes they are squares, and sometimes they are restless and run around, forming a word before they are willing to stop at the horizontal line and stand by.

It’s not a bad scene either: the scattered papers are put away in the filing cabinet on the desk – a black plastic infused cabinet with four drawers, three thin ones for documents, the bottom one for miscellaneous items, the exterior matte, the interior reflecting my eyes – and I look up from the bookshelf to see what’s going on. –I pulled a hardcover book from the shelf and tried to fold the cover, along with the pages, to the back side until I couldn’t hear the groan of the spine. Then, in the warm yellow light, I try to follow the words as they travel through some unknown world.

But now all this has become a luxury for me. My desk has become a boring set of desks and chairs.