February 1 - Surreality
So February begins and the first thing that happens is the new Harry Potter book's release date is announced. What??? No, I swear. It's July 21st, 2007. For real.
Incongruous.
So for those of you who don't talk to me on a regular basis, and only know the events of my life from reading them, you've missed out on some crazy fucking stuff.
Some arguments, some blood, some letters. A little bit of everything, and nothing was expected. And it's not like it was bad, but it was all draining. I find myself too tired lately.
Real quick plug to anyone in the area, go out and pick up a copy of Philadelphia Stories, a free lit mag. The winter issue is beautifully honest in it's fiction. One of my prized rejection letters is from them. Well worth the rejection.
But I guess back to the wierding of my life.
I guess I've assumed the position, and my emotional helmet is cracked but in place. Due tot he misery of my friends, I feel like I don't rally have the usual upbeat support, though luckily I am surrounded by company that loves misery.
In relatednews ( and everything unpleasant is related through superstition in February), half the office has called out leaving me alone on the phones on a Friday. I think I've developed an ulcer.
My grand plan today is to work on some poetry that's been eating my brain away. I feel like for too long I've been influenced by Ginsberg's "first thought, best thought" though useful, I don't think he always played by those rules. And I can't imagine Steven Dunn not editing his superb works. But the impromptu poetry on here, and my love of the beats has made me lazy, and I've found that my poetry swings like a great pendulum from the inspired to the insipid.
Tonight is poker night.
I wait impatiently all week for this. That's actually a bit of a lie. Monday morning I wait for Monday night, knowing I get to get all ready for my week, do some cooking and cleaning, and sleeping. Tuesday morning I'm waiting for Wednesday night for my therapy and then coffee or dinner out, and Thursday morning begins the wait for poker night. But the truth is that from Monday night to Friday night takes about 30 minutes lately. School works well for making the time fly. Before I know it, march will be roaring down my door, and Betty and I will be reunited in our love.
okay this little chat has been most relaxing.
Incongruous.
So for those of you who don't talk to me on a regular basis, and only know the events of my life from reading them, you've missed out on some crazy fucking stuff.
Some arguments, some blood, some letters. A little bit of everything, and nothing was expected. And it's not like it was bad, but it was all draining. I find myself too tired lately.
Real quick plug to anyone in the area, go out and pick up a copy of Philadelphia Stories, a free lit mag. The winter issue is beautifully honest in it's fiction. One of my prized rejection letters is from them. Well worth the rejection.
But I guess back to the wierding of my life.
I guess I've assumed the position, and my emotional helmet is cracked but in place. Due tot he misery of my friends, I feel like I don't rally have the usual upbeat support, though luckily I am surrounded by company that loves misery.
In relatednews ( and everything unpleasant is related through superstition in February), half the office has called out leaving me alone on the phones on a Friday. I think I've developed an ulcer.
My grand plan today is to work on some poetry that's been eating my brain away. I feel like for too long I've been influenced by Ginsberg's "first thought, best thought" though useful, I don't think he always played by those rules. And I can't imagine Steven Dunn not editing his superb works. But the impromptu poetry on here, and my love of the beats has made me lazy, and I've found that my poetry swings like a great pendulum from the inspired to the insipid.
Tonight is poker night.
I wait impatiently all week for this. That's actually a bit of a lie. Monday morning I wait for Monday night, knowing I get to get all ready for my week, do some cooking and cleaning, and sleeping. Tuesday morning I'm waiting for Wednesday night for my therapy and then coffee or dinner out, and Thursday morning begins the wait for poker night. But the truth is that from Monday night to Friday night takes about 30 minutes lately. School works well for making the time fly. Before I know it, march will be roaring down my door, and Betty and I will be reunited in our love.
okay this little chat has been most relaxing.