magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

i dreamt about illustrating poems. directly from a book of the illuminated poetry of william blake that got sent off to storage yesterday, i'm sure.

and this other bit where i was in a restaurant and i was leaving and heading east (i think i was heading home, but the theme of setting off in a specific direction recurs often in my dreams). i head left this restaurant and headed west before, so i assumed that to get to the highway heading east i had to go the other direction down this little road. but there were no signs, so i mentally projected myself in the direction i thought it was. after a while i felt a tug on my consciousness, and decided to go back, and found myself bodily beside the on-ramp. i walked back, somewhat worried about being hit by cars, and preoccupied with a few other nebulous fears. eventually i got back to the restaurant and my dad and sam were waiting for me. we got in our car, and headed out. it had become nighttime somehow, and begun snowing. eventually the snow (or was it rain?) cleared up, we seamed to be getting ahead of the storm, and it was now late afternoon, or dusk, and i felt the rest of our trip would be pleasant.

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i hate in any way doing damage to a book. in changing things from circulating to non (or vice-versa) you have to rip out the due date slip, or the sticker that says "3 DAY LOAN", or whatever, and sometimes it tears the paper of the binding of the book. and when it does, i cringe. especially if the book is in otherwise really nice shape. i think to myself: books don't deserve to have all these stickers stuck to their pages, and then torn out and replaced with different stickers.

i don't know. it's just paper and ink. and for the most part mass-produced. but, to me anyway, once it's a book, there's something special about it.