This morning I am hurrying. I am not alone in this. The clock says: “The only thing now is not to disappear.” In this way the clock is opposed to instinct, opposed to the body, even opposed to nature. The folk poetry of the world (pick anyplace) tells us that disappearance is imminent. There’s a witch coming, she’s dressed up like a shack and she runs on chicken legs and she’s going to devour you because you were minding your own business. Which gets me to my point: Marxists will say that the clock was given its exceptional power in the Industrial Revolution, but those of us who are forced to hurry, like geese before the rod, know that the clock is just trying to tell us that the witch with the chicken legs is coming. Keep moving. Keep rolling. Keep blinking. Keep limping. Erving Goffman understood the stigma of disability but he left out this insight: able bodied people see, in people with disabilities, and far down in their collective unconscious–see people who won’t outrun the witch dressed like a shack and running on her chicken legs. When people who do not currently have a disability see pwds they worry about running from the Baba Yaga. Trust me on this. Meanwhile, I have to get going, just like you my friend. The lines of the day are fuzzy. Where are my gloves?