Protected: Doing It to Ourselves

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Dreams of Steak

I didn’t get enough sleep because Klara urgently needed to borrow a book from my bedroom at 7 am. Everything at work that could go wrong went wrong. Adobe changed salary numbers in faculty contracts in weird ways. It was all crap.

My eyes are bleary, I’m hungry and miserable. I’m pacing around the playground, dreaming of steak. A juicy, bloody, very rare steak.

On Impulse

One thing about me is that I have no impulse control. None. Delayed gratification is not a concept I can comprehend. When a whim possesses me, I get up and run wherever it takes me.

Today, for instance, I was sitting at the meeting with the Dean’s Office, and experienced an overwhelming desire – which is the only kind I get – to read true crime novels.

OK, this didn’t sound the way it should. I have no bad feelings towards the Dean’s Office. We have a new Dean, and he’s great. Really great.

But the desire struck, so I dropped everything, ran to the public library, and dragged out two doorstoppers by Ann Rule. Then I read one of them. Yes, the whole 400-page thing. It was very enjoyable.

It’s all like that. The other day I left the office to pop down to the library on campus. Halfway there a desire possessed me to cook lentils. So I turned around, went to the car – never even bothered to go get my things from the office or lock up – and drove home to cook lentils.

Why lentils? Why true crime? Who knows?