dread pirate roberts

my mgr just told me she wants to transfer, when someone is ready to take over, she'll away. yikes.

better to bear known trials than fly off to trials we know not of. (i'm all over the place this morning).

got a rejection letter from a poetry anthology i submitted an entry to (for, whatever). and it didn't lay me out. it didn't hardly take the bounce out of my step. i was bummed, but then, got over it.

i don't really understand it.

a strange synchronicity happened last night, having just written how horsemanship is "so not jazz," a book i'm reading used jazz as an example of a modern "evolved" type of horsemanship. and it blew me away.

made me laugh inside. sometimes, i want to change course, but i'm really on to something. it looks like i'm wandering lost, but i'm actually finding the untrod path i'm supposed to follow.

so much i'm learning right now. even reading a poetry book i am enjoying. huzzah.

peace.

death means

i've had to contemplate afresh what death means. is it an end? a beginning? a completion? or breakdown of normal function? what is normal? what is function?

my grams' sister, whom i adore and sadly have not been in consistent contact with lately (about three years, how time flies) has just slipped into a coma.

i am now left with a choice between celebrating her life, though it is not over yet, or lamenting my failures as a grandniece. i would rather admit my failures and acknowledge her life. her number still etched in my cell phone, unused. she wouldn't be the first one.

when i dropped my cell in water recently, i didn't care so much about the phone, it was the numbers. losing something irretrievable.

death is kind of like that. but do we lose them? are they irretrievable? i'm not sure. it certainly feels that way. but my grams is as real to me today as she was yesterday and ten years ago.

though i cannot touch her. this is the dilemma. do we need that physical certainty that those we love are with us, to believe? or can we trust that wherever they are or end up when they leave us, they are able to come and go from at will.

are they hovering about us as a cloud of smoke lingers unseen around smokers? every fibre of their clothing reeks of the smoke. their presence is easily distinguished as a smoker. and this isn't the most pleasant image, but i used it once pertaining to my then take on god.

so much has changed, everything, in fact. yet, nothing has changed. and this latest bout with mortality has arrived when i have no grief left to grieve. no sadness left to spend. i have only gratitude and respect for the one i love who may soon leave this world forever.

i cannot even get away from work and commitments to honor that life. so i will find the obliging rock that held me last time, and remember her there. she would like that.

and i have to remember, tears are valuable, regardless of what people think.

peace.

so not jazz

driving to the stables my girl says,

i like it when you spend time with bucky, he puts you in a good mood.

i thought about that quite a lot. then i had to tell her about her little friend's mom's passing.

she was sorry to hear it. and we spent a great deal of time talking today. relating. appreciating each other again.

we've had a lot of spats lately. nothing i can really change, but to sum it up, a show was on that i particularly like and one of the people said,

yelling is art.

she looks up from her drawing (the child is always drawing) and says,

did he just say yelling is art?

yes.

you've prefected that art.

which is a sad fact. i've never claimed to be the best mother, the best anything. but i do hope my job is adequate and i'm not giving her too many things to hate me for and talk about in therapy when she is forty. but we are mothers, this is our dilemma. no matter what we do, they always end up in therapy saying it was mom's fault. that's just the fact.

i'd rather hash what we can out now. she knows she can talk to me.

so i help lead some horses in from the far paddocks on the ranch. after successfully retrieving velvet (sigh) by myself (with my girl distracting the other two horses), though i let the gate swing all the way open and didn't think that through too well.

so i volunteer to help fetch the remaining four horses, and in the process while leading this giant dark bay in, i go to walk him into his stall, while the trainer is putting her new quarter horse away, and i don't think it through (so what else is new), and proceed to try to walk in the stall with the horse (at his side).

ever tried that?

i don't recommend it.

i got squished and laughed because i felt like such an idiot.

when i got out of there, i said to my girl,

you could have warned me.

because her and the trainer were asking,

what did you do?

(to make you scream out like that). i told them, feeling foolish but laughing.

my girl, on the way home tells me,

you never let a horse go through a door before you.

i didn't,

i said.

i tried to go alongside. (duh!)

the horse's friend. what a knucklehead. and my girl laughed. i said,

didn't you see me?

but she was watching the other horse as she was brushing down velvet. (sigh again).

all ends well. i won't make that mistake, and i now know how not to lead a horse into a stall.

my girl asked me, when i did something else wrong,

didn't you watch me enough to know how to do that?

i'm always trying to find new ways to do things,

i said.

but this logic isn't the greatest. i really need to mimic her, not improvise. this is horsemanship not jazz. and i'm such a beginner. woefully beginning. but we all have to start somewhere.

and so i have.

how easily they fall.

word comes to me tonight of a homeschooling mom i was acquainted with who passed on. rough, rough news. and any loss, any grief breaks me in ways i cannot often comprehend. i do not try. i just let myself cry again.

it makes me want to actually engage in my life though, as her young daughter is no older than mine.

to think of that sweet girl and the trial ahead, forging a way without her matriarch. it would crush me if i think on it too long.

so i will carry my burden of sorrow to the ranch tomorrow and sift through the bad for the good. wearing away the pain with work which does the soul good.

and find bucky in between who can remind me of the other functions of the heart, besides breaking.

tonight the loss is fresh for me again.

heavy hand

today i have to turn in my paper, normally it would be in yesterday. and i could have, but i decided to wait and give it a once over today. touch it up somehow.

i'm nervous about it, because i value this poet's judgment. and it makes me tremble to be so vulnerable to submit my work to someone in this capacity. but this is what i've wanted and needed. a critical eye to question my choices and lead me higher. i tend not to follow though, and i guess the thing i fear most is not accepting his lead.

i need a tender hand to guide me, not a heavy hand.

i don't remember the last tender hand that led me, yes i do, but it's been a long time. long time. and i'm wandering lost now. does that mean i'll settle for any hand? no. it means i wander lost until i am found or find my way, whichever comes first.

it's a curious moment in my life. so much i want to say, but cannot. so much i want to do, but cannot.

i need time to work its magic. i need magic. but i'm beginning to fail at mustering the courage to keep believing.

dreams have kept me alive this long, but i try to wake from them and find it difficult to engage. difficult to be awake with my eyes open.

yet i have to believe there is more to come that what i've seen. more life and joy than what i've known.

i don't like to call it hope. hope has beaten and abused me. but i'd rather call it trust. i trust it will be well.

that the heavy hand will not hold me back or harm me, but the gentle hand will guide me. this i still believe.

i hate poetry

at least this kind of poetry.

i'm reading a stack of published, awardwinning poets who are boring me to tears. perhaps because i'm not into abstact poetry, which is what it feels like.

i just want a nice clean story. i think of poems as little novels. i don't know how else to say it. i am becoming quite fond of the narrative style of poetry the matriarch adores, but it's not even just that.

i'm grateful i have fallen into this crowd of poets who write sensibly. who craft works with such power i can feel them. the lines ring out in my mind days, weeks, months later.

if a poem doesn't make sense, how can one appreciate it?

who does this make sense to, is my next question.

how do i find something meaningful in what i cannot make heads or tails of.

and the whole thing makes me want to cry.

i've read a lot of crap poetry. i did not expect to find myself with a semester of crap poetry to read, and this by the big guns.

what is that elusive thing, that thing that makes me respond to a poem.

i remember at dodge two years ago, i didn't want to go to the main tent, i didn't want to park myself outside, when i found no seating, so i tried to walk away.

but the poet was so powerful, he drug me back to listen to his poem.

that is the kind of thing i respond to.

clearly i'm not ignorant of what works in a poem. but i have very different opinions. that i learn to quantify those opinions this semester is my goal. that i can say, this is why i do not appreicate this poem. this is why i do appreciate this poem. that is where i'm headed.

i cannot do that now. all i can do is sigh, and throw my hands up.

poetry is not meant to be a mental scourging.

or people would not read it.

how many souls have told me after i read my work, or those of poets i respond to,

i don't like poetry, but i like what you just read.

it's because they get a glimpse of this abstract poetry thing that i think is mostly academic.

the matriarch hates that crap, and so do i. not to find the language to explain this to my professor, who recommended all these books.

sigh.

that is the challenge though, i believe i'm up to it, but all i've got on my side is a lot of passion and determination. so what else is new?

i'm nervous about submitting my first paper tomorrow. my poetry, raw and unpolished. he will have his way with it. and i will try to keep a smile on my face. i don't try to disagree for the sake of disagreeing. though that may seem the way of it. but i have a particular vantage point, that i cannot articulate it at the moment does not diminish it. it merely inspires me to keep expanding my vocabulary and attempting to articulate this dilemma.

poetry is for the masses. not the elite.

can one write with elevated language, in form, for the masses?

shakespeare did. everyone dug his work. so i know it can happen.

is his language elevated merely because it is antiquated? perhaps.

but he is still writing in form. that is what gets me. this form business is tough to make meaningful. who gives a crap if i can rhyme? certainly not me, why should i think audiences or readers will respond to something just because it is rhymed or in a form. it has to mean something.

this is my dilemma with what i'm reading now. maybe i'm just too much of a numbskull to get the meaning. maybe i need a lot more education. i'll say that is probably close to being true. but i also have this inner knowing. this way of relating to poets and poetry that i think the past four years or so (who knows how long it's been now), has made me believe in. though a small handful at the moment, they are not insignificant.

i think i make my points clear to them. and they are a diverse group.

now, to make my points to my professor. that is my challenge.

so be it.

i have to put up with both of you.

to sum up a fine family weekend, let me just give you a snippet of converstaion.

i, to my husband say,

i have to put up with you.

he replies,

i have to put up with you.

my daughter chimes in,

i have to put up with you both.

we both reply,

you win.

it was a wonderfully irritating, horribly pleasant weekend. if locking three people up together, two of which act like the cobra and the mongoose, is something you care to witness. i keep hissing trying to calm the mongoose, and he keeps lunging trying to calm me. it doesn't work out so well.

so we sit in silence beside each other when we have to. we say very little that matters and what does get said has the force of eruption behind it.

be glad you're not in my family. though we try to tolerate one another, it's easier just to keep it shut and look away.

when will the madness end? i don't know. but i have some particular views on horses from this weekend which i didn't have before.

i don't care for a circus because the animals are made to do unnatural things and kept unnatural environments. i'd have to say the same about show horses. they are made to do unnatural things, and if i ever, when i get to own my own horse, i just want a plot of land somewhere and a job to pay the bills. nothing fancy, no need to make him sit on his haunches like a dog, or roll over (i kid you not).

amusing as it was kids, i didn't care for it one bit.

seeing the trainers ride bridleless, bitless and bareback, now that struck me as something intriguing. one particular mountainhorse had this bareback pad, which looked like a large swath of leather, that is my ideal i think. if i had to use anything.

one trick rider said,

i'm too lazy to tack.

which was cute, but i think seeing the way he handled his horses and the steps to get to that point, it looks like some direction i would like to go. not to roman ride them, or be fancy. but to evolve with them. which just sounds weird, i know. but i'm weird, remember?

this weekend served to confirm something stirring in my heart for sometime, and now i will pursue with renewed vigor. i can't say what because that makes it all too vulnerable. not like anyone really reads these ramblings, but still. i have ideas. a peculiar point, place in time i am working my way to. a life waiting for me. and i will arrive there soon. day by day. and that place, as i've made no secret of, will include horses.

i told my husband this weekend that i'll be starting a new career as a stable hand. he didn't seem impressed. but the man has never been impressed with my ideas. they are merely the jumping off point for his own ways. i'm certain if i suggest something it is the only thing to be ignored/denied/refused. so i don't suggest anything. i make up my mind and do my thing. that is how it works.

i don't want animosity to be the key factor in my family life. i want peace. something akin to comfort. a partnership, which at this moment seems beyond my grasp. but it will not elude my long, i promise.

that which is mine will come to me.

and i will recieve it well. i will be ready. i am preparing even now.

stablehandsuzanne

so, i can't just take my kid to lessons and drive away. no. i have to get involved.

my girl's instructor needs help on saturdays mucking out stalls and feeding.

i volunteer, because manual labor really works for me and it's cheaper than therapy. plus, i get to see bucky.

i spent a great deal of time with him today. he puts his big velvet lips on my cheek and breathes. fogging up my glasses.

the black stallion who shares a paddock with him, kept trying to run him off. but i wouldn't stand for it. i love a black stallion as much as the next guy, but, i love bucky. i kept looking at bucky and rubbing his neck and chest, and finally the black stallion gave up and walked away.

after trying many times to run bucky off, i would not stand for it. i could not. just because you're big and stunning doesn't give you the right to claim me and my attention. no sir.

so my girl's instructor wants to give me free riding lessons for all the work i'll be doing.

sure,

i say, as my girl is standing there smiling and grinning. i figure, i have to learn it all.

i walked out into the paddock and retrieved velvet who is usually tricksy when being brought in to work, but she let me walk right up and clip a lead onto her. i didn't think through maneuvering her out the gate, and the other two horses had a better angle on escape than velvet and i, but we averted disaster, and all ends well.

i went to work and ended up staying till 11, i got giddy and kind of delirious toward the end. i still have to pack for this weekend, i spent all my "free" time this week cleaning my disaster of an apartment. which hits the skids on a regular basis.

i'm looking forward to a more hands on relationship with my girl's instructor's horses. we'll be responsible for mucking and feeding and generally handling the day's business on saturdays.

my girl needs to learn these things, as do i. i told her instructor,

this is a safe learning environment.

and her horses are very well behaved, plus, i get to see bucky. did i mention that?

beautiful bucky. he does good things for my soul. and i haven't felt free to love anything in a very long time. i've just been too sad. perhaps this is a new day for me.

ice and snow headed our way, we're off for a road trip. i better get packing because i need some rest eventually.

but there is nothing like the feeling of a body tired from a good day's work. it helps calm my mind, keeping busy. and so i do.

peace.

things to make your local barista nutz

order a no foam latte and pull the lid off, saying,

there's foam here.

without ever realizing there is no way to strain out every microscopic bit of foam. we are using primitive tools, a spoon and pitcher. c'mon!

then, walk around to retrieve said no foam latte (second time through which, incidentally came out exactly the same way as the first one), and ask for a cup of whip cream and a spoon. conveniently after paying.

yeah, we love that.

look aghast when we actually charge you for said whipped cream when you add it on to a beverage. hence the term, add on. consider the ramifications of requesting an add on. usually, it means an add on to the price.

balk at this, that will give you tons of points in our eyes.

actually paying for something you order, now that is something we want to have to convince you to do.

argue with us about it, we love that.

pay five dollars for your drink and complain about the .30 cents we add on for whipped cream you request. yes, that's the way to ensure five star service.

then, take your little cup of whipped cream and smear it all over the condiment bar. be sure to dump your drink when transferring unpaidfor whipped cream into the full latte cup. you see, the amount transferred into the full cup (we do not give out cups that are not full), will be displaced by whipped cream. when you go to cram a lid on it, it will, mark my word, squish out.

then, after making your little pathetic mess, don't mention it, leave it there for us to "find." we like surprises.

thank you. and come again.

unhappy anniversaries

perhaps that's why i'm so wiped. i remember deep inside a year ago. it all began to end today, a year ago. at least my awareness of the end.

and now the tears come.

but i've never feared tears.

there is so much to do and i cannot get bogged down in unhappy anniversaries. i have to let it go. to let it go.

the dreamer must rise. she has slept too long.

a fitful, sweaty, difficult slumber. the dreamer must rise.

and face the day.

cream rising

the chief of the local nation keeps coming in to get coffee, and tonight, he looked in my eyes and said,

cream rises to the top. you don't have to do anything.

there is a lot of wisdom there, and i'm of the do something (do ANYTHING) set.

perhaps that's my problem. perhaps that's the message i'm to get.

i want to go away. this weekend i'm off and we're going to the horse expo, i don't have to drive, if i can allow myself to be driven, i may actually get a bit of rest.

and i will spectate. all weekend.

before i go, i will see bucky though. i need his particular brand of therapy.

i thought tonight this is the opposite of the message in the bottle (sting originated this thought), because there are so many faces and words and names here, it's like an ocean of sorts. and this, my little bottle, my little bobbing message may never make its destination, and perhaps will return unanswered or never return at all. that is how it is.

but i'm getting tired. and i've a paper due monday. my essay is not coming together and i've two books to read this weekend. i'm not sure what i'll do. perhaps read one tonight and piece meal the other through the expo. i always have a book in tow.

i would like to write something critically strong. i'm not sure i'm up for that at this moment. i may punt that to the next assignment.

i have two more forms i'm trying to write and i'm daunted. the mindbending rules of only two rhymes and so many syllables, etc., etc., makes this part of the writing feel less like expression and more like submission.

that's it, that's why i don't want to do it. i hate to be stuffed into a corset of words. my life is suffocating enough without taking my writing and contorting it. but this is my task this semester. to pretzel my works and make them rhyme, god help me.

i don't know how i could have thought this would be a good idea. i don't know that my prof won't hate every single word i've written. all i can do, as i encouraged a poet friend the other day when he was feeling down about his works, i said,

i don't know that any of us like our own work. we do the best we can and throw it out there to see what happens. that's the best we can do, i think.

but tonight, not even that is enough and i must rouse myself from this waking slumber. and accept the facts as i know them to be.

i've had enough of dreaming.

though dreaming has kept me alive.

i fear my soul will raisin without a dream. perhaps it all ready has and i just don't know it yet.

maybe the cream will rise, if i do nothing.

seething

i've tapped into some kind of molten core that burns within me today and i could liquify, reduce to ash any who crosses my path. best stay away.

i realize, since i'm using a heating blanket these days, i am all warm and cozy and don't want to get up though morning insists (and one must rise, eventually it seems). so i do. i won't go into any more detail about that, it is too, raw, to real. and might make you pity me and pity is the last thing i need.

so i go workout and crush my body through vigorous exercise, or should i say exorcise, as it is my only outlet of late. at that, not much.

crushed between the demands on my time, the burdensome weight of obligation. and i can hardly breathe.

i'm so tired of this servitude, this forced march through despair.

but i don't know how to change it.

that's the damn thing about it all. i don't know how to change it.

jump off the cliff or leap off the building, the results look the same to me. a giant SPLAT awaits me.

i guess it's time to embrace that inevitable demise as i've embraced so much else that promised only sorrow. grief, for one.

and i grow tired of the cold.

the kids are surprising me

and that's hard to do. i don't surprise easily.

but tonight, the kid i worked with was correcting me and telling me to do things differently, which i loved. i don't like there being no rival to counter my strength. i don't hide my strength, i guess it just shows selectively. and in the work place, i've got things to accomplish, so i enlist the aid of my team.

yesterday, the boss sat down with me and the person who told me off and said in no uncertain terms, suzanne is a manager. listen to her.

which was kind. but it looks like it won't be officially official until april. sigh.

my life is all about waiting i guess. i should be used to it.

am i?

hardly.

i've been straining against this silence for so long. i've had so much to say and no way to say it, no words. i've only been writing because i force myself to write a weekly poem, but that time is coming to an end. i told myself, one year. i will do this for one year. that time is nigh.

what awaits me on the other side of this journey? i do not know.

now, i continue to workout and try to focus my energies where some difference can be made. mostly that's school.

i've lost a total of fifteen pounds this past year, and i'm thin as i've been in a long time. the body is the easy part.

are these distances being crossed psychically, spiritually? or am i the same?

most of the time it feels nothing has changed. yet i know everything has changed. i must trust it.

i continue to walk blind along a rocky precipice. hoping that if the winds do change, when the winds change, i'll be ready for it.

at the moment, i'm just enjoying myself. or trying to.

peace.

ice is slippery

after a long walk with my girl yesterday, and resting some, (this is a ten day run with no days off), i head off to work, where my boss and i say to each other,

you can't get hurt!

because i can help some if she were out, but i can't, most certainly can't replace her. i can't do the early morning hours or keep the store running by myself, i know this. she knows this.

i am learning all that stuff, but i don't have a grasp of it yet. she's no fool though, she'll be training me and the new guy (her two new assts), how to do everything, which is how it should be, in my mind, always have an understudy.

hopefully not a plotting understudy, but a loyal understudy.

so i ended up telling her about my getting told off by the employee who refused a break. she said it's been a problem and she'll handle it. (she's really a good boss, i'm glad we worked things out. i like her a lot. sometimes, those people who are most like me, set me off and we have to work through being alike. i don't know that she's like me, but i'm just saying, i've had to struggle with people i really came to like in the past, now is no different.)

last time i worked with that person, i didn't ask for a single thing. you see, i've watched the previous managers run themselves ragged doing every single thing. i refuse to do that. if we share the load and no one has the out of, i don't know how to do that, then more gets done, and we don't wear any one person to a bloody nub.

but since i'd been told off recently by this person, i went about doing it all. i can do that now since i've shown them what to do and they do it (though the previous gang all trained together, i don't understand how i know more than any of them, but that is how it is).

if i have to do all the running around, restocking milk, pastsries, supplies, i won't be there to hold your hand and provide what you need when you need it.

i had to go to the office and do some stuff on the computer, but i couldn't get it done because the essential key was missing until the shift change.

where's the schedule,

i was asked.

i haven't gotten to it yet. i've been here.

i replied. how this was not utterly obvious, i don't know.

i felt like saying, remember, i'm not the manager. but that would be needlessly rubbing it in. so i left it alone. though it was there and dangling before me.

the person left not knowing what the schedule was because i couldn't get to it. (that is what happens when we don't work as a team). requiring him to phone in for the schedule the next day. not my problem.

so my girl and i are bickering, and finally i pull rank on her and say,

get your shoes on you're walking with me to the library.

so out the door we go. it was a crisp beautiful day yesterday. why anyone would balk at a walk is beyond me.

i don't want to argue if i can help it. i don't want to fight. i just want peace. so as we were walking i realized, this is like running it out of her. she was clearly angry at me, but by the time we returned from our walk, she had released it all.

i rested a bit before work and had removed my glasses. i pulled out of the driveway after carefully navigating the ice at the foot of the stairs (which will remain there until i make it go away). realizing what i was missing, i ran back up to my apartment and grabbed my glasses. flying out the back door and losing my footing on the ice,

aaahhhhh!

i screamed.

fortunately, i'm in shape or i could have really hurt myself. my leg bended back under me, and i stopped my head from slamming to the ground by catching myself with my palm, but it felt like someone had taken a meat tenderizer to my palm the rest of the day.

i have some bruises, and i was a bit shocked, but i had to get to work, so i picked myself up and zoomed off to work. where i walked in and said,

i fell on ice.

the first thing out of my boss' mouth was,

are you okay? you can't get hurt!

i know.

i told her.

last time she said that to me (i had just slammed my finger in the door), i replied,

i'm indestructable.

but i think being tired wears away that feeling of indestructability.

i've finally asked to open on weekends so i don't have ten days of closing in a row. closing is hard work. and i grow weary of it. the other night i sat on the floor and rearranged a large storage cabinet. it took me a while, but i can pack a lot of stuff into a small area. all we have at work are small areas. so i made twice the stock fit in to the area poorly packed stock previously occupied.

i am so short though (and my boss is shorter than i am), i have to crawl into the cabinets to extract the contents. my arms won't reach that far back. so it requires me pulling everything i can out, and crawling in. when i'm standing on a crate and half into a cabinet, this is not a good time.

but all ends well.

how does it?

i don't know. it's a mystery.

rest your head on my shoulder

so i saw bucky today. i am, have been frantic. i don't know that i can change my life and this thought plagues me perhaps more than any. perhaps everything i've ever believed and hoped in, is a lie. and i'm simply and utterly a fool. i'm having a rude awakening, i think. perhaps that's it. perhaps the skeptics and cynics have been right all along. and those who dream and believe are the lost souls. i don't know. but it sure felt that way today.

bucky was in his stall when i arrived and stopped eating to just look at me as i scratched his face and neck. i cried a bit because i've been stressed to the point of explosion. cranking my music seems the only way for me to cope sometimes, so i did. and sent my girl away so i could see bucky alone.

they came to turn him out and i went to help my girl.

she started the stall and i finished it, turning over every last shaving. this is a metaphor for life, i kept telling myself.

keep the good, throw the bad away.

i remembered to wear cowboy boots today, so i finally didn't have to gingerly walk. i could even dance a little.

i wandered out to where my girl described i'd find bucky (she's been handling the research end of things), and i found him sure enough. out. the snow covered ground was firm under my feet, and he crunched over.

my god he's gorgeous. dorsal stripe. dark legs. buckskin with two tone mane. just beautiful.

i stood at the rail to his paddock, and he let me scratch him some more. he gently put his lips on my free arm and held to my shirt in his teeth. i'm not sure why he did that. so i used two hands to scratch him.

his big nose in my face.

he kept moving his lips on my skin, my hands, my face, my neck.

he was giving you horsey kisses,

my girl said on the way home.


then the other stallion, whose name i do not know wandered over, and nudged his way in. he kept trying to run off bucky, but i kept edging away from the tall black stallion and standing between them, to where i could reach bucky and him.

they were very gentle and i was very broken today. at one point, bucky put his head on my shoulder and found the stick in my leather hair piece. i think he wanted to take it, but i pulled away.

he fogged my glasses with his breath and the black stallion stood right by me and breathed in my face.

it was curious having my hands on these giants and they were really loving me, letting me love them.

i have this knack for loving things that aren't mine. i must lose this habit. but it felt natural to be there between those two stallions and then i left them to muck out another stall.

i returned halfway through, and the love fest continued. the black stallion always trying to drive bucky away, but i wouldn't let him go. he was who i was there to see.

i've never been so close to a horse, and that he is not mine is curious.

i don't know why we've met, but i think he's lonely. and doesn't mind receiving my attention. he knows i'm there to see him.

i said goodbye to bucky, who looked me in the eyes, often his eyes were half closed and he was relaxed. i hugged him around the neck and told him i'd be back.

i've never had a horse rest his head on my shoulder before. it's quite an experience. as long as animals and children trust me, i'm good.

i think they see who we are beyond all our foibles and fouls. they commune with our souls. and we theirs. i had no idea i could love, let alone like a horse. and i will enjoy him while i can.

ms. conception

i am losing a lot of my naive beliefs. like people who have jobs actually want to work. i now realize the grievous error of this thinking, they want to get paid, they don't want to work, necessarily.

i hear it all day long, just give me my check. forget that i'm not doing a quarter of the work everyone else is doing, i'm standing here, pay me and pay me well.

this mentality is foreign to me. i have always said,

you can never pay me enough because i'll always work harder than you pay me.

i'm at a loss to understand the other mindset. it is the mindset of at least one (actually, all the older folks and most of the younger kids i work with).

baffling. truly.

where have these people worked that they get by doing nothing?

then, there's the union. once you're six months in, unless you steal something they can't offload you.

hmm.

today i was encouraged to "overlook some things."

which things,

i asked.

and if i overlook those things, how can i not overlook other things? i can't live like that,

i said.

so when i informed this employee of the required lunch break for an over five hour shift. when this person refused to take it, i said,

then you can clock out at the five hour mark.

i was told in no uncertain terms,

i will clock out when i want to.

all righty then. i simply wrote it down, that i did my part, informed the person of the standards, and they refused.

i don't really understand how people can do no work, or the least possible amount of work and expect the most possible amount of pay, even when that pay comes at the price of the entire team being scrutinized.

fun times kids. i get to deal with these people in a management capacity and am not yet titled. that got thrown in my face today, and i said,

you're right, i'm not a manager, i'm just doing what i'm told.

we all have to answer to someone.

i have a been a fool, i am a fool. i'm still reeling from something else...

now and then we tried just to stay alive

a line from a three days grace song, never too late.

that this song would come on and i'd crank it on my radio is one thing.
that my sister does exactly the same thing on a completely different coast and state of mind is another entirely.

it's a rough video, i promise you, but so worth the time.

it speaks to the pervasive darkness that smothers lives, has smothered my life for a long time. a darkness i try to shake at every turn. a darkness i am parting my self from forever.

it's not too late, it's never too late.

studies

so if you try to reach me and i'm out of pocket, it's because i've got so many books to read in a month less than i had last semester. right now, i'm not certain that i'll like any of them, hopefully there will be a few high notes. but last night at a poetry roundtable, i was encouraged at least three other poets disagreed as i did with the famous poet's book i'm currently reading.

i'm simulataneously reading two form poetry books and i must say, they suck.

i don't mean to be all down on the famous, but with very few exceptions, a line here and there, a entire two sonnets out of thirty so far, i would rather listen to local unpublished poets and read the poets i know.

i'm not sure if it is community that informs the work, we become invested in the poet and the poems because we know them, we love them. or if there is some new thing coming along that has yet to break to the surface.

i took a pile of my chapbooks along to the read last night and people followed as i read, which is weird. i felt trapped in the words and where i might have dropped or transposed a line i would catch myself doubling back to fix it. no freedom in that.

i'm merely reading a page. you can do that on your own. why am i there?

the chill is setting in again, it's been wicked cold here lately and i cover and uncover as i transition through my day. ultimately ending up at work dressed for spring. hands in hot soapy water keep the chill at bay. there is too much to do to get cold there. (for me anyway).

i should go, a pile of books to get through and i've only just begun.

we were doing this tedious residency requirement for our program which meant interacting with students and faculty for what felt like forever. and true to form, i miss them now. but that's how it goes with me.

peace. out.

sort of blizzard

well, there was snow today. it was blowing sideways and upways and downways. all ways really.

i've never seen it like that. freezing cold wind, i knew it would snow with that kind of cold. but i went to work without my heavy coat anyway. fortunately, the snow stopped before i got off work and i got to watch it all from the relative warmth of my coffee bar.

there isn't much in terms of accumulation. it wanted to snow but it has been pretty warm of late, so these past two days of flurries just aren't enough to keep the kids out of school. (which is the whole point of snow, is it not?)

the customers were great today, we were slammin' all day. time went by fast, and when i'm called in earlier and earlier, a four hour shift ends up being seven, it's nice that time goes by fast.

i have tomorrow off and i'm not answering my phone. i'm going to jaw with poets at my local library, which i haven't done since before last semester. maybe not since last july. long time.

i've seen a few of them. i've read a few poems of theirs. but tomorrow, i get to see them with my own eyes and hear them with my own ears, which is what it's all about.

when i left work tonight, the crisp air of the serulean sky was dark and only an illuminated cresent moon smiled at me. lighting my path, as it were.

a very peaceful moment.

the days have been that way of late, peaceful.

i told a customer today,

there comes a point in life where you just have to say, this is it, this is my life, and enjoy it.

absolutely,

she replied.

that time is now folks, that time is now.

cinch me in

my first exercise with form was surprisingly gentle. it helps that i'm reinterpreting freeverse poems, i don't feel i'm cheating the muse that way. i'm honoring my voice and exploring an existing topic further.

the thing with form is, it demands a loftier voice, a higher ideal, it's the drama queen of the poetry world. i found myself, to adhere to the rule of the form, casting my arm out higher and pitching my head back father, drawing in a deeper, longer sigh, then swooning to the ground. (please). all this coupled with rhyme. the rhyme alone would normally stop me. but the form demands it.

and i'm finding it explores the limits of your vocabulary.

i'm not partial to thesaurai because people choose a word that works in the rhyme scheme but may not necessarily work in context.

seems i'm going to have to publish this series on grief i've been writing all together at some point. they are still powerful to me. and i will complete this run, then compile them and hopefully never look back (or move forward, i'm not sure which).

how they have the power still to level me. a friend just wrote to inquire about the one i had just written and i shared the opening poem of the series in reply, we cannot dishonor our children by misquoting them, can we? at least not to another poet. though i often do, they forgive me, imperfect parent that i am.

i have to write about the nutjob i'm reading and while she's an incredibly famous poet, i think she suffers from poor editing of her prose. i should hold my tongue before i get myself in trouble. but i don't do that well either, so i'll write a snappy essay and say it all there.

it is well my friends, it is well.

poetry is alive and well.

peace.

suspensions and manly women

not that i'm down on the testosterone laden set of women, and perhaps i have more of it than i realize, but i showed up for my volunteer gig this morning and it was all about puffing out chests and scratching the dirt. i don't do that. so i sat in a chair and then walked out. (why prance around and strut your stuff when no one is watching?).

so, i couldn't wrap my mind around what happened and set off for a hike in the mountains with my girl, a light snow was falling and i'd never hiked those trails in the snow, so it was lovely. just lovely.

we hear the hollow clatter of a woodpecker, busy deboweling some unwitting tree (depulping maybe, but deboweling is a great image). the jays calling. no hawks anywhere i could see, until the drive home, then perched right over the road hooded an draped like a shaman crouched before a ceremonial fire, i passed under him and went home.

but not before laboring over whether i should stay becuase i said i'd be there, even though the other leader made it clear she did not need or want my assistance. i was frustrated and said to another leader,

i have too much to do to be here doing nothing.

work calls while i'm hiking, why don't i shut off my phone? asking if i can come in early. we've got a co-dependant thing goin' on and they can't seem to get along without me there. i'm always there. seven days on, one day off. six days on, one day off. i was so tired on my last day off, i didn't go to the poetry reading i needed to go to. i just couldn't drive myself there, i was too tired to be trusted driving an hour there and back alone.

so i opted out.

the young assistant manager whom i really like got suspended because she kept calling out, i had to pick up her shifts, and others did too, which is why the scramble and endless work week. i don't know how many hours i've worked the past week, probably close to forty. i'd be surprised if it is not right up there.

i'm going to request opening on weekends though because seven days of closing is exhausting when you realize everything, and i mean, everything has to be washed and sanitized.

my hands flake and bleed after seven days. i understand why the kids dip things instead of actually washing them. but a dip in dishwashing water is not a wash, and we must not cut corners that affect health. this is hard to maintain seven days into a run and i'm exhausted.

but school is reviving me. my instructor replied to my comment about how angry this poet was making me with her nonsense (she's very famous too, i think you have to be famous sometimes to be completely ludicrous and people let you get away with it). he said,

woohoo!

which makes me smile.

i made the right choice.

there are very few things in life i know.
i made the right choice this semster, that much, i know.

now, a nap before work.
peace.

so not a bad mom

i have to keep telling myself that.

though i fail and fall short in some areas, i do okay in others. all i've ever wanted to be is enough. i've never had the need or desire to attempt failing at "perfect" motherhood, my goals simply are not that lofty, in parenting that is.

but today as my gutter thinking was dragging me down we went for a walk, largly at her request. she often unwittingly drags me out of my funk, it is the gift of children to be all bowels and stomaches, needs and wants, so we must function and meet their needs. not so much their wants, they can get unreasonable.

but i try.

last night she tells me,

we don't spend anytime together.

and i about pass out.

this from the child whom i homeschool and spend every free moment with (save weekend poetry intensives and readings, when i go to the gym and work). but other than that, it's kid related if i'm doing it.

i see her point. we're both studying and i'm in school full-time, working practically full-time, and trying to catch up on sleep the rest of the time. where does she fit in?

making the point, those who are closest to us sometimes see us the least.

so we walked to the library today and a poem always rewards me for my walking. why i do not honor the walk and the poem waiting, i do not know. but i get locked into dysfunction just like the next guy.

i'm reading a poetry handbook by a certain famous poet for my current semester and i'm screaming inside because i don't agree with anything she's saying. transcribing whole passages into my journal and writing, bullshit!

the downside of borrowing all your schoolbooks from the library is, you can't make 'em bleed.

but i've got work in a bit and got dinner from the chinese kitchen of poetry fame (or what i like to imagine is my poetry fame).

heard back from a friend/objective reader who had never experienced my poetry in depth before, only read a poem here or there. and she was laughing, crying, talking to the animals with me, essentially experiencing it.

which is the point of poetry, if you ask me. to take the reader on a journey.

i'm glad i was able to convey that, to one reader at least.

those who are closest to me and fight with me about words all the time (love spats, really), don't get to experience the highs and lows of the ride so much (or they adjust to it, i'm not sure which). so to have an objective reader is a wonderful thing.

my little world on the page, she described it as

emotionally substantial

if i'm remembering correctly.

kewl.

insomniac cafe

now open.

i'm trying not to psych myself out of sleep and seeing as i started back on caffine today, we'll see what happens, but my body feels like a jet plane that is ready to ditch in the atlantic. everyone better just hold on and get their floaties because i'm going down.

zombified is the appropriate descriptive. and i'm still having to function one more day but i can sleep as much as i want tomorrow, until work, that is.

i find out who my advisor is (the waiting is the worst, but i say that any time i have to wait).

i'm not even going to work out tomorrow in favor of sinking down into the covers and sleeping my day away.

i saw bucky. my girl made me hand over my phone so she could take some pictures of him. while i picked wood shavings off his face and scratched him. she attempted to get a good shot. which she did. now he's on my phone. she's persuasive, i'll give her that.

but this morning on the way to the tack shop her dad tells me not to get her pink grooming stuff, but we get there and almost every brush, curry, etc., is pink. she insists she must have a set of brushes for the horse she loves because there's some skin disease and she wants to take care of this horse.

i asked her dad later that night,

when you tell me not to do something, what do i do?

you do it.

exactly,

i said. i don't want to hear it about the brushes. he pretty much guaranteed her getting pink ones by telling her not to. c'mon, she's my kid after all.

her instructor wants to give the horse to my girl someday because she sees the bond.

so i'm watching my girl muck out the stall and she's missing all kinds of shit. so when she comes out, i go in, not in the right boots, mind you. and take over. i proceed to clean the entire stall thoroughly. i'm nothing if not systematic.

so i leave, because i don't want to sit around and do nothing while my kid has a blast, and i'm beginning to digest myself. i eat at the luncheonette and go visit a friend from the old stomping ground.

she's not there but my old d.m. is.

wanna help with grand opening,

she says.

maybe.

i'm such a shmuck.

then i got out of there before i ended up with a swing shift this weekend.

back at the ranch, the riding instructor is mucking while there is another stall to go and it's raining pretty good, so i jump in the stall and make it happen.

my girl is washing out buckets and doing whatever little girls do around horses.

then we went to see bucky, and i'm off to work.

the old guy was in and i said,

how were you on sunday?

he said,

i went home and fell right to sleep.

(i wish)

but he said it was too much work for him.

so we did a lousy close tonight because me and the kid closing are cloing together all week long, and we're just too tired. both of us are exhausted. so i told him,

we're leaving it for the morning crew.

we'll see what happens. but we've got to have help sharing the load.
and i'm much more mellow when i'm fried. but my semester hasn't even begun in earnest and i'm all ready wasted tired.

my girl tells me i should quit my gym and go muck out stalls and take riding lessons with her instead. it doesn't sound like an even trade, but she's persuasive that one, i'll give her that.

all the while, my body exhausted, and i'm shoveling like nobody's business. it makes me happy in some strange way to be knocked out by ammonia and around these gentle souls.

p.s.
i just went to my college website to make extradouble sure i could not find out if i got the advisor i want (i know me, i'll get up early just to check) AND I GOT HIM! the poet i wanted, needed and hoped to study under this semester. he's going to kick my academic ass, but i've been ready for this for a long time.

shit now i'm really going to be awake.

time for a celebratory captain morgan! huzzah! great things ahead. great things.

i really tried

to fall asleep, i did. but here i am at two am watching bullriding and checking my email. my faithful advisor of last semester chimed in to say he'd gladly work with me again.

but sleep continues to be an issue. i don't remember what it was to sleep at regular times. lately, i go and go and go until i just crash for twelve plus hours.

i'm getting tired at work too, i didn't do such a good close tonight. there is just too much to do, and as i said, i'm tired.

these bullfighters amaze me, the bool seems intent on ripping their arm off, meanwhile they're being judged on style, form, how great a beating they can take. and i sit in awe. (i thought i'd leave that little typo for you to see how fritzed my brain really is. bool, in what world does that equal bull?)

i'm also watching john rich of all people on CMT (i know, i know)
there is a show called gone country, which has mainstream musicians, celebrities if you will, and sees if they can go country, cross over, but backwards. maybe it should be called a cross back. some kind of retreat.

snicker snicker.

now i don't give a rip about what's on CMT typically. but this show has dee snider, of twisted sister fame on it.

he rocked those bumpkins the other night. it was wonderful.

damn i'm tired. i just wish i could sleep. and i don't even drink coffee at work.

i need to figure out what i'm doing and focus my energies there. my boss says she wants to make me a full-time employee. and i said,

what does that mean in terms of hours

thirty to forty,

she said.

i'm close now, i may even hit thirty this week. but i can't keep up this pace indefinately.

i was the top loser in two categories at my gym this month though.

lost most inches and most pounds. whoo hoo!

very few people got weighed and measured (after holiday blues, i guess), but i'm intrepid and went for it. and look, i'm a big fat loser! huzzah.

ggrrRROOWwL!!!

i feel like that shot of bruce banner when his shirt splits and he turns green.

i'm furious.

try to lay out the facts of the matter for the potential poet mentor i'm choosing from and i make no bones about my wanting an advisor who actually advises. not just a paper jockey who won't give me the time of day.

she calls this, neediness.

and i'm livid.

of course i have to get angry before bed, because i need another reason to stay up til 2am, when i have to be up early to get my girl to the stables, but first to the tack shop. i'll go to my favorite luncheonette and hopefully won't be fuming by then.

i'm fresh out of ideas. i try to live honestly.

so i'm working with this middle aged lady today (btw, gramps said he doesn't want to close anymore, no surprise there kids), and it's weird.

the sink is full of dishes but not until i go to wash mine does she come over all roller derby superstars and tries to check me into the boards.

i finally walked away and said,

i'll go somewhere else.

what the hell is that all about.

avoidance doesn't often work. so finally, i say to her,

how can i make working with me more comfortable for you

(which i thought pretty rico suave, considering how thorny and abrasive i apparently am).

she tells me the boss yelled at her today, i said,

well nobody should be yelling at anybody,

i explain to her where i'm getting my 411 from, because she says eveyrone tells her something different and she doesn't know who to listen to.

so i point out the "cleanliness manual" and say,

check out anything i tell you there. as for what other say, i can't tell you where they got it from. but thank you for telling me something i didn't know.

she told me the little recepticle of water (which i think is disgusting, which we keep spoons in) is supposed to be there. but i think when the health department arranged for that little gem it was with the understanding that those things would be extracted at some point and cleaned on occasion. something none of the kids at my store (or the adults for that matter), got around to doing before i started slinging the suds.

gross. i know.

i'm tired. i got called in for a seven hour shift on my day off. and while i need the money, i hate doing residency with an advisor i don't like.

we didn't get along last semester, why would i think we'd get along this semester.

she has that sour lemons look about her, and i'm more maraschino cherry.

i don't care for her poetry either, and that settles it.

god bless the matriarch for making me promise to check out her work before committing to study under her. i'd have to have shot myself if i was saddled with her for a semester.

i told the other poet, whom i highly respect, that if i don't get him for an advisor, i'd do a ganga study with my previous advisor. ha! hope he sees the humor.

give a poet a break man.

i need one poet, just one, to make an investment, to commit to schooling me beyond where i'm at. and not chalking it up to neediness. sure i need them, but it's not neediness.

grrrrr!

the old are as bad as the young

maybe it's my hispanic blood, maybe i've worked too hard for too many years for too little pay, maybe i'm just a work nazi. but i closed with a diabled vet tonight. all the kids were surprisingly "unavailable." shmucks.

the old guy needed the dough so he stays.

he's never closed with me before, he may never have closed. but that he closed with me, meant he wasn't just going to stand there with a moist towel wiping down counter tops.

not on my watch. there is too much shit to do and i won't do it all.

so every time he walked away i asked him to do something.

he went to take boxes to the back and i asked him to bring the mop and bucked on his return.

were you a staff sargeant once?

he asked.

he returns with saturated mop, no squeezy thingy, and says,

i have a pacemaker, i draw the line at mopping.

shit, give me a break.

so i said,

no problem.

but i asked him to do other things which he did poorly. (i resisted the urge to redo them, though i was tempted. he must be accountable for a shitty job, but i did redo anything that affected sanitation).

when i realized the situation with the mop (which is what the kids do, unless you expressly tell them, bring me the mop bucket with the squeezy thing, or a damp mop, they can't figure out that using a sloshing mop will make the floors dangerous). sigh.

i think working with the aged is worse because they have this, i'm old, i deserve a break thing going on.

but i say, if you're doing a job and can't physically perform the tasks (he refuses to make espresso drinks--how one can work where we work and refuse to do the espresso bar and still have a job, i don't know), go somewhere else.

be a greeter at a store, wearing one of those blue polyester vests with a big happy face on it. that's a lot of standing around and shooting the breeze.

i could tell the guy wasn't used to working like i worked him, but i did most of the work. and when i left him literally three pitchers, three trays and three espresso bar components (because i COULDN'T do EVERYTHING), i had to keep rejecting his efforts because they sucked.

he tells me,

i scrubbed those milk spots with a scrubbing pad and they wouldn't come off.

(i proceed to wipe them with a damp rag and voila).

don't bullshit me man. i've been around the block.

the kids pull that crap.

don't even get me started on the pastry case.

for the help this dude was, i could have closed alone.

he probably won't want to work with me because i am part staff sargeant.

but i don't want to work with the aged either, especially if they lean on it to do a half fast job.

grrrr.

now watch him go home and have a cardiac scare. that would be all i need.

look into my eyes

i have always felt the honesty with which i convey myself is an asset, never a liability. because when shit is said about me, and i'm innocent, i believe it shows in my face, in my eyes.

my boss, the young mgr. who i struggled with before, asked me if i was talking about her.

and i said,

absolutely not.

someone said i was, but what that someone heard was someone else talking about her to me.

i said nothing in return and took notes of the things she needed to know and left the notes for her.

it helped that i had left her the notes because it only made my point more clear that i was not trying to stab her in the back.

if i work for or with someone, i'm going to make them look good. it makes me look good to make them look good. if i'm a complete slacker (which i'm not), then that hurts me alone. i think. but my work ethic is old school.

it's tough working with kids, and i understand why the kid informed. he thought he was being loyal.

but i told my boss,

i will listen to anything anyone has to say, even if i don't agree.

and my face tells no lies.

i cannot lie. i do not lie.

why?

i think that is why people trust me. i hope it is, anyway.

so her concerns were eased and she said,

i trust you, that is why i let you do whatever you want.

i work my ass off, that is why she lets me do whatever i want.

i know it's tough for the crew of kids who all trained together to have to take direction from the newbie, but that's the way it is.

so she tells them,

do what she says.

and my management training goes in fits and spurts, i had hoped to be on the fast track, but the fast track isn't so fast.

i ain't going anywhere, so it's no trouble for me. but she wants me certified now. and that's good news.

as for the poetic end. i have a potential advisor who is the bomb. a bio to impress anyone and he respects my work as i respect his.

trouble is, he isn't the poet i was focusing on for this semester but he wants to school me in prosody, which he excels at.

perhaps i shall have to do another intensive poetry study under the other poet.

this is the semester though to explore how a poem means.

and to dabble in forms. why not, hey, i need a challenge.

the key is, to make it interesting.

writing in a form can be so tedious (the reading of it, i mean)
but to make it engaging and contemporary. there's your challenge, while adhering to the rules.

i'm excited. school has been an excellent tonic.

and i'm drunk on life right now.

but still watching the horizon.

peace.

conversion

so, i'm not into changing the team you play for (okay, that's not what this post is about so don't worry). but, when it comes to coffee, part of my job is to convert the drip drinkers to espresso.

had my first convert last night.

a gentleman who admittedly goes to le double arches to get steaming hot coffee, came to our joint for some tepid drip, i offered to brew another pot, but he didn't want to. so i pull a couple shots from the espresso bar and give him a taste,

too cool

he says, i pull another shot in a hot glass, which he says is

better, but still cool.

i put a digital thermometer in and it's at about 140 degrees.

that is slightly hotter than a kid's beverage. so i offer to make the man a latte extra hot, so i heat the breve to 200 degrees and pull a shot.

he likes it.

but he didn't like the price. so we discussed his options, and he'll try another drink next time, but all that for a latte.

he said,

thank you, you're very understanding.

he's not my first customer who wanted 180-200 degree coffee, that they sit down and drink straight away. i don't understand how they do it, but they do. it would burn my mouth.

we do what we can. meanwhile, i'm preparing for a grueling semester where i will likely dabble in poetic form. and i'm trying to get my management training out of the way, last night i'm moving refridgerators and taking apart blenders, all the while hoping i remember how to restructure the components i've disassembled.

it went well but we are using a skeleton crew, so i'm standing behind a refridge, which is sorely in need of a scrubbing (unearthed from the counter as it was) and someone walks up and wants a latte.

sigh.

but i'm enjoying it. takes my mind off of life, which isn't so bad these days. let's just say i'm making peace with my situation.

so far the poetry study is looking the most promising. i will forego belly dancing and tai chi to focus.

peace.

soul starved

so i met a poet last night.

he is not writing though.

he was perched at a table and i walked up when he looked up from his book to inquire what he was reading.

we talked quite naturally about the subject of his book, and it led to him telling me what he does for a living.

i was able to suggest a strategy he had not thought of yet, and he wrote it down. surprised, he introduced himself by name and produced his card.

i gave him mine and said,

i'm a poet.

he said,

i used to be.

why don't you write now?

there is no money in it.

we do not write for the money. we write for our soul.

my soul is starved,

he said.

exactly.

he will likely offer me a job. i will likely refuse. i'm no salesperson. no brilliant strategist. i am content with what i do, and that he could see beyond the whole barista gig, the hat and apron, slinging a damp cloth and wiping tables, impressed me.

i'll entertain his offer, perhaps even consider it. but i do not intend to move on just yet.

stayed up till nearly 2am reading manuals for my mgmt. test.

seems the district manager wants to test me himself.

and i say, bring it on.

i'll be so prepared your head will spin.

i have a bzillion things to do today and while my semester started wendnesday, the planning component of residency begins in earnest today. i also have my senior year review. i'm finally a senior. huzzah. just two semesters left, and i'm beginning the first of those.

i hope, i do hope, to get the poet on staff as my advisor this term. i have some pretty serious poetic issues to resolve. a million poetry books (okay, maybe only about fifty) to read, and i'm now considering reading those how a poem means books so i can extract the verbiage.

all in all, it looks to be a great semester.

and my chapbook is scattering to the winds. a frightening and exhilirating perspective.

peace.