decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse
I spent today working on my thesis that "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" is actually about my experiences every Monday. Consider: human voices waking us from our heroic dreams of the weekend, when we can pretend to be Prince Hamlet before returning to the day jobs that require a Polonius-ification. Drowning in the petty rituals of society, of small talk. Preparing a face for the faces that I meet. And I can't tell you how many times I've woken up and thought in a Monday morning, "I should have been a pair of ragged claws, scuttling across the floors of silent seas."
It doesn't help that I'm encouraged in this, that my Dept. Head and Mason will argue with me as we try to remember specific wording and everyone else at the table laughs at our small concerns. It certainly doesn't help that when I see that it's Mason calling on the phone, I can answer, "Till human voices wake us and we drown," instead of hello, and not be challenged.
I think that next time I'm in this mood I'll follow through on my mad desire to carry a volume of Eliot in place of a coffee cup, and take little sips of verse throughout my Monday.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*