an image diary

"And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be? ... You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream! If that there King was to wake you'd go out -- bang! -- just like a candle!"

"Hush! You'll be waking him, I'm afraid, if you make so much noise."

"Well it's no use your talking about waking him when you're only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you're not real."

Friday, January 19, 2007

. . . . .


Apparently I can't tell the difference between Monday and Friday. I just wrote my honors candidate to ask for his work thinking that tomorrow is Tuesday and that I'll need it before four o'clock today--Monday--to read it before Wednesday's appointment. He won't know, of course, when he reads my email that my Friday was Monday in the moment that I wrote him, so now I'm curious to see if he panics or if he ignores me. --Meanwhile indicating I've lost a whole week of my life. --That if I can't see the weekend ahead of me at four o'clock in the afternoon on a Friday--given that it's Monday--I'm going to crash headlong into tomorrow and wander about the house without a sense of what to do with myself. Which is my definition of depression. What's yours?


But maybe I knew it would happen. Maybe after great nervous work there is only the calm nervous nothing to contend with, if you're a nervous one, which I am.


(Update: he ignored me. It's Tuesday for real this time and I still don't have work from him.)


"and what is the use of a book...without pictures or conversations?"

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what o'clock it is


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