I went W Th F Sa Su M T W Th without a drink. My hands were a bit shaky. My left hand was worse than my right. I told my sister that I could never have been a surgeon. She said that wasn’t true, that surgeons can have shaky hands, but the way ethanol effects the brain wouldn’t do at all for remembering where to cut and stitch and why and how. I noticed my hands were more steady when they had something to hold, so I started writing. I also noticed I was having the most vibrant exquisite ridiculous dreams. In one, a friend was recounting the story of her mugging. A bus went by and I saw my sister waving from the window as if to say, “You were supposed to get on with me, now catch the next one and I will wait for you.”  I began to get ready to leave and I noticed I was wrapped up in a pink fleece blanket. It was the sort of super synthetic fleece that catches every microscopic piece of dry skin on your hands. My friend made me go out her backdoor because someone in her neighbourhood was watching her and she didn’t want them to see me leaving through the front. On the bus my sister told me she was writing a book called “Excuse Me, I’m Moving Forward” which began, “I understand that I am carbon and other chemicals reacting towards equilibrium, but I like to think of myself as more and suggesting otherwise to humans will upset them.” Sometime later, I was watching an episode of Sex & The City. Miranda was being rushed to the hospital because she was going into labour. She was flip flopping all over the stretcher in a panic - very Lucille Ballesque. Although, I got the feeling that she was aware and shameful of her overacting, which made it all the more funny. Carrie pointed out something particularly poignant, but I can’t remember what it was now. When I woke up, I said, “That was the funniest episode of Sex & The City I have ever seen,” and the right side of my face hurt a great deal. I got up and made coffee but it wasn’t strong enough, so I had to drink twice the volume I usually do. I contemplated methods of strengthening the coffee when my friend Jason called. He said he was waiting outside of OCAD, while some girl he met, visited a friend. He said he had an idea that would blow my mind and asked if I was ready to have my mind blown. He said I should make some work of art, maybe a drawing and not a very good one at that, and I should set up a forum where people could post their thoughts about the work.  Then he said, I should take all the thoughts and have the drawing reproduced that many times placing a different thought at the bottom of each. He said to call it, “No Room for Your Error.” Finally, he said, “So what do you think?” I thought it was amusing, but I wasn’t keen enough to go further with it, so I said, “It’s your idea, why don’t you do it?” And he said, “Well you know, it’s not really my thing.”