If I Were ...

If I were a caterpillar on page one of a children's book putting its fuzz to the grndstone, I probably would not stop believing in the power of camouflage to keep me safe from the scrutiny of an English department that feeds on Foucault and Derrida.

If I were leaning over a hospital bed mercilessly murmuring about misplaced meaning with the spark of dementia setting fire to the drapes, I probably should not lead an invisible crusade to fire up a camera full of family brushes with delusion.

If I were hyperextending myself into ultimate fighter mode in front of a rowdy Vegas crowd, I probably should not be leaving a cab with the meter running on Manhattan's Upper West Side.

If I were rummaging through a trailer home for my childhood and I found furniture floating out of a full-length mirror, I probably would not break out the Yahtzee dice and roll up a storm of sixes.

If I were channeling Charlie Parker on a Saturday night with clouds hugging the mountains as a wind tears through the valley, I probably would not punish the babysitter who taught me about nakedness in the chill of my parents' bedroom.

If I were riding on the back of an Indian elephant through a national forest with my feet talking trash, I probably should not shock myself into believing that my ATM card is home building up an empire of nondeductible debt.

If I were listening to the White Album at midnight in bed with the covers over my head, I probably would not want to be grinding my teeth down to the source of the Nile with the clocks running backwards up Victoria Falls.

If I were flipping through a reference book in search of the year a German novel was first translated into English, I probably should not be expected to remember that I need to pick up a new supply of filters for the house ventilating system.

If I were curled up in a sleeping bag on the beach just south of San Felipe in Baja with a big wind blasting snakes out of the rocks, I probably should not take the time to relive the Thirty Years' War and how whole patches of ground were denuded by careless armies.

If I were standing in line at the market with five items in my basket, I probably would not have enough time to run down the list of all the girls whoever made me lose consciousness with their earthshattering French Symbolist kisses..