Henceforth

A pause before my evening reading. Laura Marks's Touch, which I'm taking as a primary example of what's wrong with recent theories of corporeality and synaesthesia. Maybe some comic books too. And a chapter from The Psychopathology of Everyday Life. There's so much to do - to read and especially to write - that there's little chance of life creeping into my days this week. Unless by life I mean my throat's sudden tenderness, brought on, no doubt, by the freak storm of simultaneous rain and snow that accompanied my morning walk to school.

Tomorrow there are meetings with students, a talk with our wayward grad chair, and two good hours of my not-so-good film class. (This is the part of these entries where I usually write something like: If only something or someone else would intervene, if my hands touched more than books, etc.. But from here on, dear reader, I pledge to forego such easy endings. Feel free, however, to interpolate their presence in the gaps that follow - indeed, in the very spacing of the lines that comprise this blog. You will rarely, if ever, be mistaken)