I’m in a non-specific home space overfilled with objects in disarray—so much so that it is difficult to find space to walk, or even to set my feet down. Another space that is mostly mine is under the tall eaves in a very ample, more than ample, attic. There I have my sculpture in progress. But even though I have my own space here, it too is as cluttered as everywhere else. Objects of every sort, including much clothing, are strewn about willy-nilly, like a well-toyed child’s play area before the child has learned to sort and organize.

I am aware that it is the opening day of a new quarter of classes, and that I have a class to teach in creative writing/process. I can’t remember the exact starting time of the class, but I think it is mid-afternoon, say 2:30. But that is an odd time—probably it is 3:00. Certainly no later than 3:00. Unless it is a morning class, as early as 10:00. In which case, I have absolutely blown it, and my teaching position is in peril. But probably it is later, in the afternoon, and I must get there.

I make every effort to take a shower, debating whether I really need to take a shower—but it is the first day of classes in a new quarter, so I must, I must. I’ll be taking the roll for the first time with a new group of students.  Eventually, I stumble over the clutter of objects until I make it to a bathtub where taking a shower is possible in a way. It’s not really enclosed as a shower, but there is a typical hose extension on the faucet that should work. With much gesticulating, I am undressed, in the tub, and using the hose, but a very small trickle of water is the best I can do. I wet and lather up my hair, and then realize that it will take hours at this rate of flow to rinse my hair. Problem. And the whole shower/bath is a problem. But somehow I get the job sufficiently done.

Now the task is to find my teaching clothes. I have a fine new coat, with well-pressed pants, and a highlighter-bright yellow shirt with a highlighter-orange necktie. Splendid, splendid. But I don’t remember where these clothes are located. I search and search—or at least in my mind, I wonder and I wonder.

Meanwhile, I am also aware of wanting to show my latest sculpture components. This too is a very difficult task—locating these components amongst the flotsam and jetsam of Everything Else. But the components are, in fact, the content of the introductory lesson I have to teach.

Round and round I go, looking for the clothes, trying to lift the sculpture components out of the chaos, moving under the eaves, here and there around the house, with little accomplishment, release, or satisfaction. And the clock hands keep sweeping forward on the clock. I panic. I know that there will be a whole lot of explaining—more explaining than I am capable of, if I am late for class. I must not be late for class. I MUST NOT BE LATE FOR CLASS.

At last, I find the template for the emerging component advancing the sculpture in progress. I lift it out, brushing off various overburdening objects, and behold the piece. I know that it fits, and how it fits, the major corpus of the new work. Vast relief.

Somehow, I know my hair was rinsed, sufficiently, and has dried, sufficiently, and I’ve even found clothes—not my fine new highlighter-bright outfit, though, but sufficient to the immediate cause.

I am rushing, rushing, rushing. When I notice that the clock face reads 5:00.

It is impossible that I have not completely screwed up. I have missed the class. I know that I have been shown up for failing to show up. I have been found out. There’s no way out. If I show up on campus I will be tracked down, apprehended, and—eliminated.