My dream-self confused Frank Conroy with Frank Black, so we spent most of workshop hearing about what a good experience he'd had with the 4AD label. In the waking world, we went back to Vu's house and finished watching the A&E special. We are realizing that none of us would give a shit about our own stories, were we to come across them in a bookstore. For the past few days I've been ostensibly cleaning the apartment as a pretext to avoid writing. Either I don't know how to do it any more, or I'm coming to understand that I never did.