JANUARY 6: Today the doctors pulled a crayon out of my nose, taking pressure off of my brain, and almost at once I felt a kind of awakening of my mind for the first time since I was a young child.

JANUARY 7: Homer. What did my parents have in mind when they assigned me that moniker? Was it the blind Greek bard of The Iliad and The Odyssey, or slang for the act of propelling a baseball over the wall and out of the playing field? . . . I was leafing through the dictionary today and only now, I believe, have I mastered the words assign, moniker, propel, slang and manifestation (see the following), as well as Homer in its ancient Greek manifestation; and until now I have not questioned the meaning of my name at all. I have plenty of time to ponder such questions, now that I’ve lost my job at the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant. Of course, this is not the first time I’ve been terminated. Mr. Burns was rather upset the time that I caused a meltdown, but he was happy to have me back when I ended my push for public safety in the nuclear power industry. This time seemed different, though. Mr. Burns seemed more than just angry. In the past he’s been upset by the ridiculous problems I’ve caused—quite a few—but this time he just seemed threatened and a bit frightened as if he imagined, let’s say, that I would eventually  …