A Manifesto for Obsession

My wife wants to know what I’m doing.

“Sitting alone in a room is a strange way to pass your time,” she says, “and on a hot Summer’s day; it’s almost noon.”

“I don’t have a choice,” I say. I don’t look away from the computer screen, and my fingers still move across the keyboard. “I have to get this finished.”

“You’re obsessed,” she says.

“I’m not obsessed,” I say. “I’m just focused.”

She closes the door and leaves me to it, but we both know she’s right.

I like focusing on a single idea for h...