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I think things in my life are approaching an even level of surreal or unreal. Some days I wake up tired enough to barely speak simple sentences, but through rote repetition & blind luck manage the ride to campus, wake up enough on the way to stumble through a day's worth of drudgery, & then bike home again. Sometimes I'll catch myself wondering how I got somewhere, or less thinking that something should be done & more accepting that that is the next item on my long itinerary of life, the next step in a short-term tradition followed blindly. The past 10 weeks are a rained-out smudge of a memory.
So in a sense, this place is as real as anything else I do or see or read. Which is to say: not very. (& yet then, this is my life: so what is more real than what I'm living, dreamy & detached as I am?)
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