A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again

Composed as part of From the Toolbox of The Serving Library seminars led by Dexter Sinister at the Walter Phillips Gallery, Banff.

Stylisations of the first paragraph of the essay by David Foster‐Wallace “A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again”

It’s the weekend. The fist day of it, though I don’t suppose it matters. The
oppressively dense atmosphere of this depressingly generic airport is hardly
mitigated by an infusion of caffeine. The minutes draw themselves out like the long vowels of Floridian pronunciation. Killing this time is an inverse problem, as the memories of the last few heady days feel more like the time is killing me. Though the end of this assignment should bring some relief, the looming prospect of Chicago holds little promise for brighter circumstances.

The patient shows contradictory signs of signs of lassitude and agitation, his
appearance is sallow. A recent cruise has neither lifted the subject’s spirits, nor improved skin colour. The agitation may be explained by recent excessive
consumption of caffeinated beverages. The lassitude emerges from the description
of transitory spaces, such as airports in the south‐eastern United States. The patient is reluctant to reveal the route of the aforementioned cruise, referring only to a “hypnotic sensuousness collage of all the stuff I’ve seen,” the inference is one of illicit activities and substances, possibly the true source of the patient’s agitation is located in guilt. The date, March 18 falls during the period generally coinciding with SAD, or seasonal affective disorder. This would be commensurate with the patient’s final destination in the north‐east of the United States, which today is experiencing intermittent snow and a low of ‐31F (with wind chill). Further diagnosis is not possible at this time, recommendation to pursue treatment when travel schedule allows.

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