Wednesday, July 09, 2014

Had a final exams dream. The school was a sprawling, multistory building I didn’t recognize. In the center of it was a room in which rested the dead body of Mr. Pride, my late art teacher from high school, naked and somehow perfectly preserved. As usual, I fretted about how I’d do, not having shown up for class, not lately anyway, not having done my reading, and not having understood much, quadratic equations for example. I perused my notebooks and was amazed at the elaborate doodles in the margins, some of which suggested entire graphic novels. I felt a pang of regret and thought, Why don’t I do these anymore?