Some time ago I was invited to take part in a writing workshop in a beautiful location by the Baltic Sea. One morning, one of the invited guests suggested that we write a short story imagining how our lives would look like in the future. I panicked. How will my life look like in, let’s say, ten years? I didn’t know. So, I decided to focus on the present, on the here and now of the situation I was in. As I was observing the surroundings, scribbling something on the page, contemplating the bizarre circumstances, writing a few more sentences, observing the other people writing, it became clear to me that I was not interested in this question, I am not interested in absurd projections. If at the beginning I thought it was my lack of imagination, I quickly changed my mind. The thing is that the idea of projecting myself into a hypothetical future makes me want to throw up, and to stare at the horizon gives me unbearable headaches.