May 7, 2007

So I dreamt that my employers were pressing me on the fact that I haven't put a full-length collection of poetry out. I tried to appease them with my ESL anthologies that I'm apart of, but no one was having it. I then explained all the performances, visual work, etc... and how my poetic practice doesn't necessarily fit the usual model. Again not having it. Then I left the office discouraged, sure I was fired. I went to Moe's and was checking out the used poetry section, like I always do: Lo and what the crap: There was a book of poems I'd written that had everything I'd ever written from juvenalia to marginalia in my college Biology book, everything ever, all there. I was initially embarrased, but then recognized that this got me out of my initial non-book pickle. Problem is, I had published it under a different name. I went back to the office to explain the situation, but no one bought it. The word fraud got thrown around repeatedly.

_____
The alarm went off, I woke up, then bicycled to the English Department, where I work.