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.