Fifty years in the future: climate change has wrecked agriculture and my mother is trying to feed me an earthworm casserole because that’s the only protein source left. I am taking it with bad grace. Pouting in the bathroom.
A news article about Hillary Clinton: “Also, she can be cruel. She enjoys wearing $1 billion dresses, one of which is made from the fleece of an endangered penguin.”
A billion? Can that be right?
J. says my dreams are getting way too literal. The Traumarbeit is lying down on the job.
I am lying down on the job. I wrote fifteen pages of generalities which were supposed to get me into The Golden Bowl but instead all ended up on the order of: “The defining thing about the nineteenth century is X.” So I need to start over again and hollow out that golden bowl from the inside. I did go to the hardware store, got some tape to stick up a mirror, lithium batteries for a bike light for the new purple bike, which now gets me to campus and back even in the rain. Work those thighs, private. Also, the fact that Obama wants to be my commander-in-chief may be slightly hot.
[bike light: blink]
earthworms were one of your favorite foods as a child!
50 years from now you're 80 years old and still living with your mother? Jeez
Seventy-NINE, thank you.
the fleece of an endangered penguin? can THAT be right?
