Experiments in the space-time continuum: an essay.

Today, I was in the basement of a library.

Today, sometimes I waited for people who never arrived.

Today, I moved across space and time to my office, and from there to the ether.

Today, I talked to people in real time, but sometimes I was talking to them through a laptop.

Today, I walked speedily, I did flies, presses, rows, pull downs, curls. And then I drove on west and southbound roads to eat at home, spaghetti and salad and toast. And then I drove on still further south and further westbound roads to talk to students in an atrium on another campus.

Today, I waited for a student who did not arrive, and, while waiting, I watched, smelled, and listened to the dinner of a young man sitting near me. It was a hamburger and fries, extracted from a paper bag. It smelled savory and delectable. His manners were not polished.

When I said to my computer, Can you hear me? to an invisible student, the hamburger and fries guy took that as a signal to wad up the paper remains of his meal and leave, which: good. A redolence of grease and salt trailing behind him.

After my experiment in limits or the lack thereof, I came home, I ate ice cream and peaches, I watched Modern Family reruns. When I got up from the bed to get rice crackers, I was a teensy bit dizzy.

Tonight at ten, we walked the dog under a brilliant half moon. It is officially autumn.

The people, today it became clearer that there must be limits. That transitory dizziness may be metaphorical, or perhaps it is not. It may be existential.

Oh, I have a big plan for better limits and less vertigo. It starts in January.

For now, I plan to continue two-a-days because they make me feel like I'm choosing something and like my schedule is not wholly running me.

For now, I plan not to do any more stints at other campuses for the benefit of students who may or may not sign up, or who, having signed up, may or may not show up.

For now, I plan to get one more hour of sleep a night.

For now, I plan to keep planning, because I might be able to carve out another little concession from my tyrant of a schedule.

For now, I plan to collapse just a little bit. And then, to take a breath when I stand up from the collapse.