Don Quixote was published something like 400 years ago in archaic Spanish that I can only understand by looking up every other word in the Royal Academy‘s online dictionary. And yet, I find that the delusional knight is part of my daily thought and discourse. Yesterday a programmer in his blog compared his crazy project to tilting at windmills. Today someone called the development of open mobile phone software a quixotic quest. On my door is taped a copy of the lyrics of “The Impossible Dream“, which is from the musical adaptation of Don Quixote. I liken my dating escapades and debacles to the adventures of the ingenioso hidalgo. When I look at the uncontrolled explosion of books in my bedroom I wonder if I, too, live mostly in my imagination. I find it strange that a novel so seemingly irrelevant to my life would have this much of an impact upon me.