Some Imagist Poets?

I really hope that after today, I can stop having anxiety dreams ridden with impossible deadlines and general academic and emotional squalor and chaos, because this is getting ridiculous.

I have these elaborate fantasies of reading week as ten days of pure bliss: me curled on my couch with tea and editing poems and doing all my readings and writing papers and watching the movies I'm advised to watch on my Women's Studies syllabus. No social contact, no getting dressed, the reestablishment of my eighty-five year-old sleep schedule. But somehow I don't think it will wind up this way. Sigh. I have never been so tired.