This morning, I feel like the plain untranslated text of a Camus novel. Every motion an act of simply trying to make the limbs go. I smoked a cigarette, because I wanted one. I made a coffee, and then I drank it. I read and marked student papers, because it needed to be done. I opened my mouth and inhaled air over and over again. I didn't take a shower. I probably won't leave the house today or talk to anyone in person. If I do, then I'll take a shower first. I had a dream last night that some man I didn't recognize, while talking on the phone, wrote with a pen on the back of an envelope: "Do you listen to Lisa Loeb?" I nodded then he said, I thought so. There are many more student papers to read and mark. I will go mark them now.