As we are lounging around the fireplace, my beloved turns toward me at some point. “If you wish,” she says sweetly, “you can go scribble for a while.” I give her a puzzled look. “Nah,” I reply after a short pause. “My mind is on the fire all the time,” I add. Indeed, I cannot stop thinking about it. “Shall I add another log?” I weigh my options every now and then. “Hmm,” I can hear myself think a moment later, “that big log needs turning once again.” My beloved only enjoys the flames, but I am forever wondering about my next step. “Hey,” I turn toward her, “there is too much smoke around.” And then I get up to open the kitchen door ajar. On my way back, I pick up my laptop from the dining table. “With modern technology,” I sigh to myself almost inaudibly, “I can tend the fire and scribble at the same time.” Lucky me, of course. This was unthinkable even two-thousand years ago. Poor Romans, too. Seneca flashes through my mind out of the blue. “Wait a minute,” I mumble to my beloved, “another log is a must by now.”