March 10, 2023

Huge, elaborate dreams through the night, and then when I lie down for the afternoon nap, with Maud kneading my back with her paws. Does the proportion of “real” like and dream life change as you age? The dreams I remember are narrative, and cut off some time in the process of the narrative. Are they like stories abandoned? Do they continue in the unconscious until they are finished? 

Hiked briefly on the path on the southern edge of campus, from the Botanical Garden to Merrimon. Despite proximity, had never done that before. It struck me, once again, that being close to the university inspired not one flicker of nostalgia, and almost no curiosity. Is that sort of ataraxia common in retirement, or was there something specific about me and UNCA? I had no reception, no tree planting, no plaque or scholarship, no acknowledgment whatever of my passing– was that merely the midst of the pandemic, or something worse?  Not one of my English colleagues has made an effort to get in touch with me, except the first year to judge a writing contest, for which, against promise, I was never paid. Is it merely indifference equal on both sides? I gave 37 years to the institution: odd that I should feel nothing for it, or maybe just the slightest antipathy. I was hindered by the mediocrity of it all. But, also, the same quality gave me ease and peace, as there was none to call me to account. Maybe the bitterness of the last few semesters cast darkness backwards over all. Don’t care that much. It is curious nevertheless.