I cannot believe today is only Tuesday. I was convinced this morning that it was actually Wednesday, even though it felt like Friday. Being here is like existing outside time, where the normal temporal laws don't apply. I think it's the intensity of the experience that causes me to feel like I've been here for a week already.

I have come to the realization that there is no way I can work and sleep without an air conditioner. It's strange to say it, but it's true. My allergies have gone absolutely berzerk; when I woke up this morning (after only getting three hours of fitful sleep), the left side of my sinuses were clogged, I could barely breathe, and my eye was so irritated that it looked pink in the mirror. Lister has told me that the AC window units run about $160, plus a $35 installation charge by Owen Hall. This seems a small price to pay to not feel like I'm dying in the morning. Plus, since I got $750 in scholarships, I have the money to spare. After the session tomorrow, a few of us are driving up to Circuit City to purchase some units.

This morning, we critiqued four more stories, blasting through each one in forty-five minutes. Then we broke for lunch, and at 2:00, Pat Wrede gave a lecture/discussion on the differences between short story and novel writing, most of which I already knew, some I knew implicitly but not verbally, and some I didn't know at all. We got six more stories to critique, four for tomorrow, and two for Thursday. I'm hoping to have my newest one (started Sunday morning when I woke up early) finished in time to critique on Thursday or Friday.

Some miscellaneous detritus:

The showers here (which I forgot to describe) are three feet long by two-and-a-half feet wide by seven feet tall. It feels a little like a coffin with a shower head.

On the way here I noticed a few things. When I stopped at a rest stop in Ohio, a guy about my age was leaning against the door of his car and bashing his right knee with his fist, presumably to knock it back into place. In the mountains of West Virginia, I passed several wide-load trucks hauling FEMA prefabricated temporary housing units, each taking up two lanes. And every time I stopped for gas in Ohio or Michigan, I was surrounded by puffy white tree pollen blossoms (I think); they drifted around me like snow on a breeze, and were quite interesting to look at.

Well, if I want to get going on that story, I'd say it's time to sign out.