Snow.

That's the name of the Orhan Pamuk novel I'm intently reading right now; it's also the name for the frozen, hexagonal bits of water that have been falling from the sky this week.

I had forgotten that I had started to hate the cold. I used to love it. I could walk around in weather like this (30° Fahrenheit) without a coat (or sweaters!). But my tolerance has waned. Now the cold hurts me all over. I long for somewhere with milder weather year-round.

Snow-the-novel is hurting me a bit too, because it's heartbreakingly beautiful as a novel. It's hard to tear myself away from it. I'm reading slowly; I often read faster than this, but I don't want to miss a thing, or speed past something without having taken the appropriate amount of time to consider what it says.

As usual, I feel compelled to start something. The problem is that I feel this a lot, particularly when I'm in the middle of other things.

Beginnings are what I love best. That said: let's see it all through.

Even the winter. And the next. And probably the one thereafter.

How to Start the Weekend: Choose my adventure.

My suggestion:

go to the craft fair at your place of business, which your company sponsors during the holiday season. Walk over there -- it's in the other building -- after a day of not feeling so well.

A couple times today, you got up and just didn't feel well. You got a cold -- or a throat thing -- coming on. No big deal, but you might be a little tired.

But when the end of the day comes, you're ready to check out the craft fair. You're feeling better. Ready for the weekend. Ready to relax, to have fun, and so forth.

So you walk over there.

Then you fall down the stairs when your ankle gives out under you. Thankfully, there's a nice guy there to help you up, and you don't hurt too badly. So you get up, go back to your cube in the other building, wrap your foot in the ace bandage you had brought for your wrist but never used, sit for a few minutes to chill out -- the fall sort of rattled you -- and then go home.

It starts to ache.

It turns out, people, that while going to the craft fair at work on Friday afternoon, I sprained my ankle in the fall.

Stupid!

That is the stupidest way to start the weekend.

Ever.

End transmission.

Momentum 9

On Saturday, as I described (and provided a picture of), I went to the ICA and saw an exhibit that really stuck with me -- Momentum 9: Kader Attia.

It has stuck with me through today. I thought of those ghosts all day today.

Momentum 9

In the dark dormitory designed

With plywood in mind and bare

Bulbs, I can feel the ghosts. They

Are the withered walking dead

Tired. Their mattresses cling

To their shapes like the wild

Mother to stillborn baby-in-arms.

She could die if she doesn’t let it go.

Or we could be the ghosts.

Strolling through their lives,

Their impressions neatly

Pressed into their mattress

As they hide under the frame

And try not to breath.

They could die if they don’t let it go.

In the end, when I leave the room

Breathing again. I am holding

A wall. A railing. Anything

To make the earth still again

And rotate back to now. Tangled

In extension cords, I feel tethered:

I could die if I don’t let it all go.

This is still, but it is a propeller

In the world of museums and art,

Chopping bits of past and making

You taste them, the dust of their

Weary years gone by.

Most of us

Choked. Most of us

Lived. Except those

Who could not

swallow. Except those

Who couldn’t let it go. They could.

Have. If. Did.

Holiday. Celebrate.

Weekend in Brief:

Left work on Wednesday.
Made Cranberry Sauce.
Watched Donnie make Turkey and Cobbler. He's a pro.

Thursday.

Drove to RI.
Found an extremely awkward situation in my mother's living room.
Situation quickly became even more uncomfortable with the arrival of my mom's husband's (NOT my "step father") parents. My mom's husband is a year older than I am. He used to live across the street. His parents have never met my maternal grandparents.

There was also a couple who were friends of the family, but they had recently broken up and were in the room together.

It was.....the food was good.

Drove home. Tired.

Friday.

We slept in a bit.
Fed Kitties.
Sort of laid about the house for an hour or two.
Went shopping.
It was crazy, but sort of just "weekend" crazy. Not "black friday" crazy.
Let me point out that "black friday" is not black because of how "crazy" it is. It is "black" as in the phrase "in the black" or having made a lot of money/profit, although it originally comes from a reference to the stock crash of "Black Tuesday" because of the heavy foot/vehicle traffic. I don't have the patience to explain this just now. It's like a riot. Not riot ha-ha, but riot ohmygodgetoutofthewaythey'restampeding.

We got gifts for my brother, our niece and picked up a few serious sale DVDs.

Saturday.

On Saturday, I got up very, very early (haha -- eight am. I have to be at work by then on Monday!) and drove to Foxboro, my hometown, Don's hometown, and the high-school home town of my best friend, Kristin. We stopped a Bickford's for breakfast out of desperation; good breakfast places are sort of few and far between in that area. We were greeted by a curmudgeonly woman who, when I pulled on the door on the right to make it easier to get through, uttered an excited "No!" However, our food was ok.

I drove there to collect Kristin, which I did. We drove into Boston and got lost trying to find the Institute of Contemporary Art, although we did eventually find it.

The ICA was pretty amazing in that most of the exhibits were emotionally unsettling, although a few were intentionally funny.

The exhibit that bothered me most was "Momentum 9: Kader Attia." M9KA was an installation of a dark room with walls of plywood. In the room were beds made of what looked like boxes or more plywood, with foam mattresses. The mattresses, in turn, had had foam ripped out of them in the shape of bodies.


We left the museum after we saw everything, and began to drive to Salem. We stopped at a Wendy's on the way home.

Wendy's.

The Wendy's Restaurant was clean, and there appeared to be only a short wait. However, we ended up waiting for about fifteen minutes. Our food came; however, my burger was missing cheese. The woman behind the counter grabbed a slice, put it in a container, and handed it to me.

Ok. Whatever.

Then, another customer, a male who looked to be in his late teens, went up to the counter and complained because he had found a piece of fur in his sandwich. Ew. Of course, they should take care of that, no problem. It's unfortunate, but that kind of thing will happen from time to time.

"I'm not even kidding, look. There's this long piece of hair or fur or something in my sandwich."

He pulls out a long piece of white fur-like hair; it looks like it came from a dog.

"No sir. You put that in there."

Right, of course they'll replace....wha? What?

"No -- I'm serious. This doesn't belong in my food. This is ridiculous."

And on and on, the workers continued to accuse him of putting the fur in his own food.

Now, regardless of whether or not they have a history with this guy, the fact is they have other customers, including me, standing around watching this altercation. Does this mean that if I have a complaint about my food, I'm going to be responsible? Does this mean that they have no customer service skills?

I didn't intervene, even though I desperately wanted to. Holy crap.

Kristin and I sat down with our food. Our sandwiches tasted four hours old. Ick. We ate only as much as necessary (which in this case was very little and mostly composed of soda. Nutritious) and left. Quickly.

We made it to my house and chilled out for a bit, and watched a terrible movie called "Murder Party." However, "MP" is so bad, it's good. And parts of it are endearing. So if you can deal with pretty bad acting and some gore, and have some patience towards stupidity, you're probably good to giggle to a viewing of "Murder Party." The film is about a group of art students who are interpreting a murder of an unwilling victim through art for a grant.

Here's my favorite gem of dialogue from this film:

"Why did you take our art?"
"Well, I was going to kill all of you, and then sell it, because art is only worth money after you're dead."
"So you like our art?"

Ridiculous.

After the movie, Kristin and I drove to Saugus to have some yummy Mexican food at the Border Cafe. There was a bit of a wait, but we got in and got delicious food. Incidentally, I got Kristin's leftovers, because she's flying out on Monday and it probably couldn't even take the ride to Foxboro. She: Chicken Guadalajara. Me: Beef Enchiladas. We also had some guacamole. She: margaritas. Me: diet coke.

I was driving.

We came back to my house one more time, and then I drove her home. I probably won't see her again for another six months. Last time I saw her was May; this is November; I would guess that our next visit will occur in May.

Sunday.

I had intended to write all day, although today wasn't a total loss; I did some research on Berlin for the period between the 1970s and 1990; right now I'm making spice cake. mmmm.

Most of it was wasted, but the day isn't over yet.

Thanksgiving

was Weird.

However, its weirdness and awkwardness were not so great to exclude a few nice moments.

I hope everyone's holiday was lovely!

Call me sappy, I'll punch you in the face.

Seriously, because I can hardly stress enough the value and integrity and beauty and pure genius of the people around me on a daily basis -- and those traits are especially prevalent, I feel, among my friends.

I will not give a list here, because I am sure to forget someone or something and this is no time to be particular or upset because you feel you've been ignored. Just take in the fact that I appreciate you.

My friends and the people around me are typically extremely sweet, funny, intelligent, compassionate and capable of amazing things.

Many of my friends are either some sort of artist or have crazy untapped talent.

Today I traded genuine compliments with a new pal who sits across the office from me. I listened to some of the new songs my friends have produced. I viewed the trailer for my friend's film -- again. I laughed -- really hard -- on the phone with my friend a little while ago.

I'm appreciative of all you people, even if you don't know it.

So there.

Sunday Scribblings: I Carry

I carry:

worry
extraneous papers
plans
broken pens
hairbrush
diabetes
pain relief
pain
barrettes
elastic bands
food allergy
glucose tablets
disease
maps
apologies
spare change
credit cards
relationships
license
business cards
ipod
recently purchased books
poem drafts
ideals
glucometer
insulin
pills
my friends
bag
a bottle full of water

myself

In Our Own Words

This evening, I read my work at the Writer's Forum: In Our Own Words at the Monet's Garden Art Cafe in Beverly, MA.

Although attendance was low, it went very well. The other readers were very talented, and I got some outstanding feedback on my own work from audience members/fellow writers.

Further, I learned about other reading opportunities, solicited submissions, and engaged in some great conversations.

Thanks Laurette!

LitDay!

I feel somewhat -- somewhat, mind you -- inspired.

I want to finish all the books I'm reading, which include:

The Penelopiad/Margaret Atwood
Snow/Orhan Pamuk
Autobiography of Red/Anne Carson
A Room of One's Own/Virginia Woolf

Plus, I really, really want to read the new Dave Eggers, plus:

All the Best American series books that I feel are relevant to me (which will probably include "stories" and "poetry," and often, "non-required," but may also include "science" and "travel"), Yann Martel's collection of short stories (I've been trying to get around to it forever!), the Helsinki Roccamatios, plus all of Ondaatje's works that I haven't read, and the rest of Margaret Atwood's collections. And the, I need to move on to stuff more outside of my comfort zone.

I'm not sure what that will include. But it will be mixed with the poets I feel I need to read.

I feel like today is going to be exceptionally productive. Yesterday was productive as well. Let me break it down!

Yesterday: I went to a reading at UMass Boston. Irish poet Greg Delanty was reading. I had a tough time finding an example of his poems on line, but managed to find this at poets.org:

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19626

Anyway, his reading was excellent, and prompted me to buy his book, "The Blind Stitch," which I proceeded to read immediately after the reading in the lobby. Excellent.

Today, I'm going to the last New & Emerging Writers Series Reading of the year, which has a YA focus. You can get the details about this reading here: http://newsreadings.wordpress.com/

After the NEWS reading, I intend to jaunt over to Somerville to attend the Somerville Writers Festival (http://www.heatcityreview.com/somervillenews.htm), which features Robert Pinsky, Tom Perotta, and Steve Almond.

I'm very excited about today. Also, I already drafted a poem today, and I have itchy fingers.

I believe my friend Marybeth is coming with me, which will make it that much more enjoyable. It's nice when you're not an island.

For those who might not be aware, two of my closest friends and I have undertaken the creation of a magazine, which we're very excited about. Coupled with that, I've gone and collated all the information I could garner about current lit events and put them on the magazine's myspace calendar (http://www.myspace.com/blackwillowreview).

Also, if you feel like submitting your work to the magazine, the guidelines are there as well! You should submit.... to: blackwillowreview@gmail.com. Our new email addresses will come with our new (forthcoming!) website!

Sunday Scribblings: Left & Right

My sides fight
over who is
more right
for my pen,
my collapsing
cartwheels, tilted
pitches, nervous
at-bats.


Of course, Right
believes she (he?)
is right. Left lives
in shadowy breath,
exists as the cracked
crutch: I lean left

when Right grows
tired of my neediness.
Left listens, is the
neglected friend,
but holds asdf for me,
balances the cup
to hold the spoon,

is a team player.
Is willing to work
together with Right,

but they still,
still, for years more,
I am sure -- fight.

I am not
ambiguously-sided,
my dexterities
live angrily

but utlimately,
must listen
for their cues,
to live, to do the
things they do.

Like in any good
society, dominance
must live as a
secondary.

Wrong?

Sometimes, perhaps, I just need the page.

I'm that person who read so much and spoke so little -- even up until a year or two ago -- that I know many, many words, but don't know how to pronounce most of them.

By that same token, I tend to respond in -- wrong? different? -- ways.

Take, for instance:

-- the fact that I thought the little paint can in the paint program (remember the nineties, people?) was an upside down graduation cap
--that I was the only one to argue against launching the US into WWII in a classroom debate
--that I was the only one to suggest that perhaps a character who does not openly grieve her husband's death in a story I read for a class (I can't remember when) WAS actually grieving

These are little things, but....in particular, that I may not like the contemporary canon of poetry. Or I don't get it. I'm not sure which.

I say this because last night I heard Mark Doty read at Babson.

I thought his poems were very interesting, and very intense. He approached his topics from several very emotional and often very personal angles.

However, perhaps because I've been steeped to the point of sourness in "what poetry should be" for so many years, I felt empty afterwards. I didn't feel as if I had just done something worthwhile for my writing pursuits. For my literary persona.

He had excellent turns and some intense content. But, again, I found myself asking where the bigger picture was, quite a bit of the time.

I don't think this is a fair assessment to him, however. For several reasons, which I have considered this evening:

- I'd never really read him before
- He was reading to a large bunch of disinterested students, who, might I add, really disappointed me in their behavior -- coming and going, constantly.
-I really need to hear something at least three times or read it once or twice to get the full picture.

So how can he bring me the big picture when I'm only getting fractions of the frame?

He can't. It's impossible.

This is why I need the page.

So I'll be picking up some Doty, and inquiring further. So thanks for making me stop and think, Mark Doty. Sometimes I need to slow down.

Particularly since I'm not offering anyone a bigger picture.....or am I? I don't know. It's hard to be objective about art.

Sometimes I just need the damn page.

Sunday Scribblings: Money

So a fellow poet turned me on to this website, Sunday Scribblings (http://sundayscribblings.blogspot.com), where writers can find a prompt on Saturday, and write about on Sunday. So I'm giving it a shot. I like the fruit that prompts bear.


This week's is "money."


*******************************************

You tell me things:

Divining

With your minted numbers,

The signature of someone

I’ve never heard of

Or cared about, but I can

See where you’ve been.

George, my man, trust no

One. We are all spies.

The scrawl on your fellow

Fiver, it tells me that

Someone named Kerry

Is gay, and that Simon

Loves Clara.

Such tender is the currency

Of secrets and lies.

How meta: my cold, hard

Cash converted into a

Crumpled poem

And broken

Stones

In my pocket.

Connecting the Dots.

I'm trying really hard to create a semi-complete literary events calendar for the Greater Boston Area.

There are a lot of events, but not as many as I thought there would be -- I'm being somewhat choosy -- selecting the events that people would be angry that they didn't hear about.

Speaking of literary events, I've been invited to read at another event. On Thursday, November 15, I'll be reading at the Monet Garden Cafe in Beverly, MA.

Exciting!

Today we are expecting a huge storm to come sweeping through -- big winds, heavy rains. Leftover hurricane. Hurricane Noel.

Today we'll be staying in; writing; playing games; making soup; etc.

Be warm!

Operations!

Things feel good right now.

1. Thank you Red Sox for winning the World Series!

I love Jonathan Papelbon. Seriously, pictures of that boy dancing just make my day: they're freaking hilarious. Who dances with a cigar and gatorade? Gross!

The best thing is that I was at home for this win. Last time, I was in the hospital, passed out.

Now I can sleep again (or at least, without guilt). Wish we had bought some furniture. Dammit!

2. Work is going well. I just love my job. I can't get enough of it. The best thing about it is it gives me an opportunity to identify my own challenges. I need, for example, to be able to better assess the work that comes in, my own work, and express that assessment effectively. That's tough for me, because once I get any distance from anything I tend to exaggerate; it becomes much worse (or better) in my head than it actually is. At the same time, I hate to say anything disparaging about anything, especially another writer. Sometimes, it has to be done. It's not about them, after all; it's about their work.

Even though I love what I do, sometimes I get distracted by other goings-on in the world or in the office; I do my best to devote all my attention to what I'm doing to ensure the quality of the piece.

I've been there for a year today; I've been in the role I am currently in for a year.

3. I've met some nice people lately. This is good for me. I'm naturally rather introverted, and susceptible to self-induced loneliness. That isolation is particularly acute when it comes to writing, particularly where Alexis and I just started magazine operations, but we are located at opposite ends of the country (she in CA, I in MA). It felt like it would be: more volume. Immediately. The lack thereof, somehow, makes the isolation persist. It's a slightly bigger island, but now, thankfully, at least I know a few more people on it.

4. Kristin is coming to visit next month! That's very exciting. I love that girl to death. She's one of the best human beings I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Because she lives at the bottom of the coast, obviously, I don't see her all that often anymore. There was a glorious year when she lived directly down the street from me, and then within just about a mile. Halcyon days, friends, halcyon days.

5. People have made some pretty good recommendations to me, music-wise. I found some new artists I actually like, and I don't feel perpetually bored when I am listening to the same old songs over and over.

6. I think I've finally come to a conclusion about grad school. I had talked to a lot of people who pointed out the benefits: time with your writing, "expert" advice, a learning community, new connections and so forth. Those are all valid. However, if I went to grad school, I would have to work as well. I had stipulated earlier that I didn't want to go unless I could go all in and just complete my degree and nothing else.

That's not feasible. At all. Not only is it not feasible, it's not really what I want, because I do love my job and don't want to sacrifice it.

Interestingly, on a whim, I asked my boss, Jim, if he went to grad school and what he thought about the value of the experience. Interestingly, I learned that he enrolled for the same type of program I would enroll in (MFA -- CW), got to the school, and then turned around and went home. There were several reasons for this, which we discussed, but he made a point of saying that unless you can pursue it the way you really, truly want to pursue it, it won't be worth it. I had signed up to go to an information session at a school which would be a major compromise for me.

I don't want to compromise my dreams. My dreams are multi-faceted, and deserve all my attention in the best way I can provide it. The best way I can do that now is to keep the job that I love and pursue my poetry "career" (a contradiction in terms?) in my spare time. At night. With the other poets that are out there trying to do the same.

There are a lot of you, I know.

As it stands now, I work in a capacity that is very fulfilling, and I pursue my other interests when I come home, on the weekends, in all my spare time. I don't think I want to tie that -- honestly very effective -- set of functions to conditions set by a professor who may not be aligned with my thinking. I understand that everything requires skill sets, and that is something education can offer. At the same time, I've been to enough school to know that sometimes, those skill sets may be coupled with poor advice or unintentional bias towards a particular way of operating.

So far, I'm doing ok. I am meeting goals, one step at a time.

Until the day comes that I can pursue it whole-heartedly, I'm going to leave grad school on the backburner. The one without a pilot light.

General Nonsense.

I. Love. The. Red. Sox.

Thank you, boys, for making this so very nice so far. It's been so comfortable that I've been able to sleep at night. I appreciate it.

This weekend and through next Wednesday is going to be crazy here in my hometown: it's Halloween.

Where do I live?

Oh, just in Halloween Town, Massachusetts. Salem. Salem, MA.

The streets are flooded with costumed guests who steal our parking spots in our tiny, crowded red faced city.

Every year for a month, the town is overcrowded.

Every year for a single evening, the town is a sardine can.

It's coming. It's on its way.

****

In other nonsensical ramblings, I am extremely tired lately. Last night I meant to go to the reading at the Monet Garden in Beverly but missed out because I was conked out by 8, more or less. I'm trying to fix it so that I'm not exhausted all the time. Right now, I could go to sleep. With ease.

Work is lovely -- but silent -- because I get to read and write all day. It's still surreal. Amazing, too, is the fact that landing that job made me confident enough to do things I probably wouldn't have done otherwise. Like start a magazine.

The magazine is still underway, like its website. We are still accepting submissions. You should send some.

******

I'm supposed to go to a party tonight. At my brother's. I don't know if I can handle it, but I'm going to try.

I want to get some writing done this weekend, as well as some reading, some recreational piano playing, some general chillaxing.

You dig? Chillaxing.

Yeah.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Yesterday was something.

I read at the New & Emerging Writers Series Poetry Extravaganza in Arlington, MA, with three other very talented poets who stunned my tongue silent with their talent:

Jarita Davis
January O'Neil
Betsy Retallack

I had a great time, and would like to continue thanking January O'Neil and Erin Dionne for organizing such a lovely series -- and for including me!


After coming home from the Poetry Extravaganza, I settled down to watch the Boston Red Sox destroy the tribe to take the ALCS CHAMPIONSHIP! and onto the world series we go!

Jonathan Papelbon, my friends, the man knows how to party.



Go Sox!

Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow

Yesterday.

Yesterday I felt terrible. I went to work, with the intent of toughing it out. Worse, my blood sugar would not go down. So I think I must have caught something.

Because my pump doesn't seem to be delivering enough insulin, I change it. Still nothing. The site is perfectly fine.... is it the insulin?

I try a shot. It does nothing.

Insulin it is. Why? I don't know. So I opened a new bottle, took a shot, which worked, and reattached my pump. That is the stupidest thing, bad insulin. There's no way to protect against it. It was a new-ish bottle, so I'm not sure what the problem was. But regardless, it didn't work. I started to feel better around 330.

Today.

Again, I woke up with very high blood sugar -- I'm not sure why. Once I bolused enough it came down -- and I felt better. So I adjusted the nighttime basals. Hopefully that will help.

I hope to start my running program tomorrow, pending that i wake up not feeling like total crap. While my blood sugar is down, my stomach is bugging me; I don't want to risk aggravating any problems by going out. So I'm staying in today/tonight. I feel bad, because I was supposed to go to a show tonight. What can you do.

I am very excited about tomorrow. I hope it goes well.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow I'll practice reading a little; hopefully work on writing new material; hang out with donnie; and then, it's reading time. I'll be reading with January O'Neil and Jarita Davis.

I am very excited.

sunday, Sunday, SUNDAY

I'm pretty excited for it.

Sunday, 4pm at the Regent Theatre Screening Room on Medford Street, Arlington, MA (off Mass Ave)

Four other poets (I think) and I will be reading our -- you got it -- poetry for an audience. For nothing but their gratitude or their attitude. I'll take either one or both. Be there or be some sort of boxy shape that nobody likes but everyone appreciates for its capacity in moving situations.

You get the point.

Chicken Soup for the Mild Cold

I've not felt so well the last few days. However, this morning, I am feeling considerably better.

Incidentally, on Friday, I nearly called into work because I felt so poorly. However, had I done that, no one would have been there -- everyone else (all two of them) in my department was out as well.

This morning I still didn't feel well, and was awake around 7 am when I could have been sleeping. So I sat up and tried writing a few poems -- including one made of quatrains. When I was twenty, I was OBSESSED with quatrains. They were all I wanted, ever. Now I'm more of an allovertheplace type, but today I revisited that form and wanted to cry a little. It was awful.

But I did it nonetheless. Then I wrote three other drafts which, in my current opinion, are poor. But this is what happens when you write when you feel stale and sick. Sometimes, when you force it, it works out. Not so this morning.

I'm dying to write a story, too, but I'm having some trouble laying one out. I don't know where these people go, what they do. That said, getting out and hearing more is helping to rebuild my confidence, even though I'm listening to others. Not because the work is bad - in fact, it's excellent -- but because others are doing it, too. Does that make sense? I think it does, but my wording is rather poor.

Today is cooking/baking/cleaning day. It was supposed to be yesterday, but I felt too sick to do much of anything.

See you on the other side of my homemade soup.

KYEO

Tonight is very sedate. I am preparing for Friday, for the weekend. I have things that need to do be done. Namely:

I need to make soup to last about a week. It needs to be good chicken soup. I need to make it.
I need to make cookies. Goddammit, I need cookies.
I need to get or make gluten free meatballs. Or, I need to go to that place in New Hampshire with the GF everything ever.

I need to relax. Seriously relax.
I need to assess the submissions and figure out how to get more.
I need to assess where we are with getting the website up.
I need to talk to my friends sometime this weekend, too, probably.

I need some serious me time. Shouldn't be a problem, because I have a thousand things to do. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, and assessing, and so forth.

Anyhow. Enough about what I need. How about what I've done?

Last night, I sat at my desk until long after my shift -- my workday, I don't really have a "shift" per say -- had ended. I sat there. I went up the street and got some mango curry. I came back. I ate it. I read the news. And so forth. Then I went outside, moved my car, and cleaned it out. Shortly thereafter, the Emilys arrived.

I work with two nice girls named Emily. Together, we piled into my newly-cleaned of all straw-wrappers car and drove to Boston, where we -- I -- promptly lost track of Comm Ave once into Allston because I haven't been there in a long time. The street we were looking for was poorly marked, too -- when I say 'poorly marked', I guess I mean 'was not marked.'

We found our way to the building, where we sat in the aisle and listened to the speaker, Mark Strand, well... speak.

He read a handful of poems. He read for maybe an hour. Took no questions. Told (as far as I know) no lies. Stated no statements thereafter. Made many jokes.

His poems were pretty good. It's weird, though, how things get lost in translation betwixt reading and hearing.

I want to impart all the laughter that was had in the car, but it can't be done. I am tired and sort of despondent just now. I was just talking to my dear friend and with a beep she was gone to another call. It happens. But the cats are anxious and though there is no catastrophe at hand, I am afraid it could be just around the corner.

I'm keeping an eye out.