November 10, 2008

Last night’s dream: Ireland, again. Again, in the dream I was a boy. I lived on a farm, or perhaps my best friend did. I was never sure whether I was protagonist or sidekick. On this farm was born a miraculous antelope which was fully sentient (though it could not speak) and did all sorts of human things, and had human emotions. It had been born underwater, and hence was often seen cavorting with the friendly alligators which abound in Irish waters. I did not own the antelope, but it communicated telepathically with me, so I was important when the family that did own it began a little business in town centered around the antelope. It’s a little fuzzy now (Circe woke me up by jumping on my ankle, claws extended) but things were going wrong near the end, and the antelope communicated to me its sadness and desire to be on to something else. I became persona non grata when I told the family this. We were away from our village when we quarreled, and they made me walk home. I was afraid I would be too cold in my windbreaker, so I began to run, to get home before nightfall. I ran along a corridor between two broad lakes, and I wondered if the alligators in the lakes would ever think of their friend the antelope.

The faculty reading went well yesterday. The lesbians began rearranging the furniture the minute they walked in. All the readings were good, but Jim’s struck me as especially powerful and well-wrought. Good attendance, some from “outside” –owing, I think, to my expanding utilization of Face Book.

So tired at the ends of days that I haven’t seen 10 PM in a week.

Had leftover blue taco chips with French onion dip for breakfast, which I washed down with grapefruit juice. It occurs to me that not all my stomach problems are cruel impositions from the outside.