Edward Lowell Anderson
My best gal brought me a hummus sandwich cause I was low.
I have to administer the midterm exam in the class I’m teaching, but it’s two minutes before the class starts and I haven’t yet gotten the exam from Lyn. Periodically I look out into the hall, but see no sign of her. The kids are restless, so I review the distinction between first-order and second-order functions in Frege (apparently this is what the midterm is about). They don’t understand it and neither do I.
So I find Lyn’s number in my cell phone. Some other woman answers.
After this the woman is more friendly, but doesn’t know where Lyn is. The kids have gotten bored and slipped off to play Ultimate Frisbee; I can see them on the lawn. There’s hardly any time left for the test. Well, I remember that they were supposed to analyze a Fall record, one of the eighties releases on Beggars Banquet that I don’t own – I run off to Amoeba to see if I can get a copy, but of course it’s the one record they don’t have. Also, I haven’t had time to put on a shirt. Where’s my shirt? Fuck!
wake back up at 4 in the morning and I spent a long time staring out the window at something that might have been a plane or Venus or Jupiter. It seemed to be flashing like a plane, but it wasn’t moving, so after a while I went with Jupiter. I remember Jupiter was in Gemini in 2002, so maybe it’s in Leo now? And if the sun is in Virgo, about to hit Libra, then Jupiter could be on the eastern horizon at four in the morning. The math of insomnia…
Watching a star, wrote Thom Yorke in the tour diaries he gave to some magazine, my star that comes out when things are bad. Before I went to bed I was looking at the English job posts in the Chronicle of Higher Ed, and my usual revulsion at want ads came over me… the only thing worse than not getting a job would be getting one of those jobs. They forgot to put any gumption in my fetal jar.
Desiring this man’s gift and that man’s scope…
I read Josipovici’s collection The Lessons of Modernism last night and enjoyed it very much, even enjoyed facing the relative certainty that no criticism I wrote would ever see so clearly and far, my lack of easy converse with Portuguese and Greek and whatever else being only the first problem… Charles Tansley in To the Lighthouse is a figure of fun, writing his dissertation about “the influence of something on somebody,” but of course it needn’t to be ignoble to tend a very small patch, even without great innovation–how would I have the right to deny it?
Anyway, very often all this seems like effluvium of a superfluous self. The other day I Googled myself (autoGoogled?) to make sure my blog was relatively safe from my students, and found my name on a list of bloggers who are only rarely sabotaged by their own self-importance, or some such. Actually I was in pretty good company on that list, and I should take the only rarely as a compliment; it’s probably kinder than reality…
but it was just a big dog. today’s goal STAY UP LONG ENOUGH TO EAT DINNER
I don’t think this Internet place will let me save any photos to the hard drive, so I can’t add them. Suddenly very sleepy, again. Berlin, the city of sleep.