I dreamt last night that I was a reluctant part of some Truman Showy podcasting reality television show, forced to read literature into one of those cellphone hands-free microphones round-the-clock from a text that was projected onto the insides of my eyelids, with the occasional pauses in my reading at chapter breaks to sip coffee or talk to people or, you know, to breathe and stuff. I don't remember what I was reading, but I'll bet you appreciated it. At least you better have.
Now, I don't know from where in the hinterlands of my thick skull one might find the little sliver of grey matter responsible for such subconscious patter, but I'd be tempted to try this someday. Maybe not forever, and not on reality television, no, maybe not. I probably couldn't even be tempted to go a full day, I don't think. But maybe for a couple of hours? One day (maybe).

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