Last night, before dinner, I took a nap because I was so tired. I had headed upstairs with the intention of cleaning my upstairs piggy nest. I saw Ryder lying on the white comforter. She looked so comfortable that I could not resist the impulse to take a nap. I fell into the bed and pulled the covers, comforter and all, over me. I then put a pillow over my head so as to drown out the sound of the wind, which was again gusting.

I fell asleep. And I had this very vivid dream. I dreamt that I had not finished my dissertation and had just a year in which to meet the seven year deadline. I had just forgotten that I hadn’t finished. I decided to check this out – then I realized that I still had to take four additional classes. I woke up attempting to find the registrar’s office.

Pete, standing in the stairwell, woke me, saying that dinner was ready.

I roused myself from a not so deep sleep and joined him for dinner. The dream seemed so real that I, in all due seriousness, said that I had forgotten that I had yet to finish my dissertation.

Pete told me that I had finished it. Now I have had this dream or variations thereof quite often in the past. My having finished my dissertation has made this dream seem nonsensical to Pete.

The question is, why do I have this dream? The answer is that my dissertation was as a written document, a failed work. I did not write a publishable work. And as a writer, this is in my head, unacceptable. I could never go back and rewrite it. In fact I was not able to rewrite it when I acquired a differing committee chair. I then was given permission to do whatever I wanted to do, but I did not avail myself of this opportunity.

I can’t now go back in time and revise what I’d written or even come up with something different. This is why I’m having this dream.

I wish I could double my lifespan, if I did, I might attempt this.

And now, I am working on Shelf Life, a book that I think in most ways is reflective of my interest in literary journalism and creative nonfiction. Tonight I worked on the chapter in which I decide to write Shelf Life. I am here attempting to strike a balance between my executive director and writerly identities.

I also worked on the following chapter in which I write about my relations with Pete. Up until now, I have taken him for granted. I must, in some way make note of the fact that I do not take him for granted. It is going to be fictive, this realization. This realization actually came over time, but it would be near impossible to deal with this in narrative time.

I like this new word – narrative time. Narrative time deals with compression and expansion of time, the purpose being to make the story seem believable. Oh my, an ideas day at the very end of the day. This is a first.

Next: 351. 12/30/25: Coming down the Home Stretch