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“I haven’t done much; swam a bit, read a thing or two, loved nothing. It was not a time of poverty, though. I had to dig around and accustom myself to the sight of corpses. Worse than the lack of achievement was the fact that a lot was started. Oh well, one or two ballads got finished. I’m getting on with sawing away the branch I’m sitting on, if only slowly. But I shall manage to lose my sense of security all right.”

—Bertolt Brecht

Woke up from some kind of crazy dream. In the dream, all that mattered was my job, and I didn’t have one. I mean, I had a job, I did it every day, and some nights, and weekends, but it didn’t matter, and I didn’t get paid. The job mattered to me and two or three other people and in some ways, it mattered to the entire world, but the entire world knew nothing about itself, so it didn’t care. The entire world never acknowledged me, or my job. The entire world had its head up its ass. And it never threw a banquet in my honor.

So I woke up from this crazy dream, it was a nightmare really, and in the nightmare, my self, my soul, my personality—ME, what else can I call it? ME was split into all these little parts. The parts were living inside my head together. They were chattering away, running about here and there. They were a family.

Here’s the worst thing. These parts of ME were a family, inside my head, and they didn’t get along. Like the family in those Chevy Chase Vacation movies or the family in All in the Family. They were like The Simpsons, but they weren’t funny. They bickered and blamed and tried to shut each other down; so it got kind of hard for ME to get things done. For ME in the dream. To get things done. And getting things done, as it turned out, this was my job.

Woke up from this crazy dream.
Couldn’t get back to sleep.